Las Plagas
by WitchGirl
Summary: Grissom takes it upon himself to solve the mystery of the strange disease that’s infecting Las Vegas. But is his unhealthy curiosity risking his staff? Tiny Resident Evil 4 crossover, but don’t let that put you off.
1. Prologue

Las Plagas

**Summary:** Grissom takes it upon himself to solve the mystery of the strange disease that's infecting Las Vegas. But is his unhealthy curiosity risking his staff? Tiny Resident Evil 4 crossover, but don't let that put you off.

**Author's Note:** I promised Kegel I'd post this on Halloween. So... here's the prologue. I'll try and keep up with my regular posting. Enjoy. :o)

**Resident Evil 4 Note:** Please note that if you are familiar with Resident Evil 4, I have completely altered the Las Plagas and Luis Sera to suit the needs of this story. So it's probably better if you aren't familiar with RE4 because otherwise you might kill me for bastardizing it.

* * *

Prologue 

Gil Grissom put on his glasses, his brow furrowed as he agonized over the photographs of the corpses that had been cropping up all over Las Vegas. The mayor was denying it, even the sheriff told him not to look into it, which made Ecklie nervous every time he walked past Grissom's office and noticed what he was doing. But Ecklie, for maybe the second time in his career, did nothing to stop Grissom from his research, probably because Ecklie knew as well as he did that there was something gravely wrong in this town, a deathly dark rain cloud that hovered on the horizon.

Something was lurking beneath the exuberant surface of Sin City, and it was far from beautiful.

It ate the insides of its victims, at least that was according to Dr. Robbins, before he had taken a mysterious leave of absence. At first, Grissom had postulated that it was some sort of wild animal attack that ripped open the stomachs of these people and tore out their entrails. But the Doc said no, that it was something else, something that left everything but the nerves in carnage, and he couldn't tell Grissom why. But he _did_ tell Grissom that the unsightly stomach wounds had been made from something bursting out rather than burrowing in, "Ala the _Alien_ movies," as he'd put it.

But it didn't make _sense_. According to Dr. Robbins, they weren't dealing with an animal, at least not with any animal they could recognize. So it wasn't some Las Vegas Sasquatch, it was something far more sinister simply because it had no name. Things were always more frightening when they were nameless, because it showed how little humans knew of it. Humans named things to know them, it was their nature. They had to _know_, because a lack of knowledge was a thing to fear. Evolution had ensured that the greatest tool to mankind's survival was his mind, and if a nameless predator could outwit him, then he was doomed.

"Gil—"

He looked up and his frown deepened as he saw his friend and colleague, Dr. Albert Robbins, clinging to the doorframe, panting and pale, his eyes sunken in his face. Grissom jumped to his feet.

"What's wrong?" he demanded instantly, skipping formalities.

Dr. Robbins closed his eyes and stumbled into the room. It was to Grissom's utter shock to find that he was deathly weak.

"Al, let me help you…" he began, rounding the side of his desk and gripping Dr. Robbins' arm. He helped the doctor into a chair and frowned. "Where have you been? You don't look good."

"I'm infected," Dr. Robbins explained, and Grissom instinctively took a step back, but Dr. Robbins laughed again. "You don't have to worry," he breathed. "It's not contagious. At least, not by touching me."

"What is it?" Grissom asked, half out of morbid curiosity, and half out of petrified concern.

"Sit," Dr. Robbins ordered. "Before I lose control over my mouth."

"I don't get it…" Grissom began, but sat down nevertheless.

"You've got to keep going, Gil," Dr. Robbins said, his gaze piercing. "I tried, I did, the… the research is at my apartment, but I can't work anymore."

"You shouldn't be working in your condition—"

"I had to," Dr. Robbins insisted. He took a deep, rattling breath. "I had to because… Because Gil, I'm the only living specimen we have."

"What did you find?" Grissom asked. "Is it a virus? Bacteria? Can we fight it?"

"No," Dr. Robbins panted, "to all of the above. Except maybe to the last one. It's a parasite, which starts out the size of a protist organism after it's hatched. It takes up residence in the bloodstream, I…" He closed his eyes and seemed to shake a moment. "I took the liberty of procuring some samples and freezing them for you so they don't progress further. You can see the stages they go through from birth to maturation, it takes about six weeks to complete its cycle, or that's what I've deduced by the way its progressing. I would have brought some things with me, but I could barely get here on my own. You'll have to go to my house, it's all there, it will tell you everything."

"Al…" Grissom whispered, heartbroken. "Al, how did this happen to you?"

Dr. Robbins shook his head and Grissom noticed he was shaking. "Not sure," he said. "I think I was infected when I came in contact with the bodies. Probably the first one that came in if the time line serves."

Chills ran down Grissom's spine. "That was over a month ago…" he breathed.

Dr. Robbins nodded. "I figure I have about maybe a week left," he said. "But in case I underestimated the strength of the thing… I just wanted to… let you know." He began coughing rather violently and quickly seized a handkerchief before covering his mouth. Grissom was a little wary of this extra precaution, until he realized that the handkerchief was covered in blood.

Grissom leapt to his feet again. "Good God, Al, we need to get you to a hospital!"

But Robbins, his breathing labored, leaned back in the chair and slowly shook his head. "There's nothing they can do," he panted. "I can feel them crawling under my skin, Gil…" He straightened up laboriously so he could look Grissom in the eye. "One… important detail you should know, and I haven't worked this out yet, but… But in the last week, you begin to lose basic motor functions. Your arms twitch, your head looks one way when you want it to look the other, and then…" His eyes traveled down to his fingers, which were flexing and unflexing. Grissom watched his hand too. "And then they begin to move on their own. I don't know what is exactly sending the signal out. For all I know, I could be doing it subconsciously, or it could just be a side effect of my deteriorating nerves, but…" His fingers continued to flex, slowly, deliberately, as if they were testing the waters, and Dr. Robbins did not look away. "It has a sort of… calculated feel to its movements. As if… something else is controlling it."

Doctor Robbins wrist slowly turned, and he began drumming his finger tips on the edge of the chair. At first, it was quite disjointed, but eventually he found a rhythm, and his hand seemed to delight in it.

Something occurred to Grissom. "Why do you think the mayor is against looking into this?"

"Maybe it's not our job…" Dr. Robbins postulated, his voice hoarse. "Maybe it's some top secret experiment that real doctors are working on…" He started coughing again.

Grissom smiled sadly. "_You're_ a real doctor."

When Dr. Robbins was finished, he smiled up at Grissom. It was an eerie sight, like seeing a skeleton grin. "But you're not."

Grissom laughed quietly. "We'll fix this," he vowed. "We'll get you better."

But the smile fled Dr. Robbins features. "No you won't," he whispered seriously. "There's not enough time for me. But fix it, before it continues to spread."

Now Grissom was deeply troubled. "Don't give up on me Al."

Dr. Robbins closed his eyes. "I started the research," he muttered. "You have to finish it."

He slowly and painfully rose to his feet, and Grissom helped him. "Please, Al… Go home, get some rest."

"I intend to," Dr. Robbins told him, but there was a strange finality to his tone.

"I don't want to be investigating your death," Grissom said quietly.

Dr. Robbins said nothing for a long time. He frowned and seemed to concentrate very hard. And with much effort it seemed, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope before handing it to Grissom.

Grissom took it and looked over it quizzically. "This just happened this evening. They haven't called it in yet. Send some of your guys over there, or go yourself, but it's a fresh kill, which means a few parasites could still be swimming in his blood stream."

Grissom frowned. "How did you…?"

"I went over to his apartment and found him dead," Dr. Robbins replied quietly. "He contacted me a few weeks ago, somehow knew what I was doing. He wanted me to cure him. But I couldn't."

Dr. Robbins turned and stumbled towards the door. He seemed to be relying on his cane more than usual. He paused in the doorway, Grissom's eyes burning holes in his back. "You… Probably won't see me again," he said.

Grissom's eyes were dry, for the moment at least, but he felt his stomach lurch. "We'll figure this out, Al. We'll…"

But they both knew it was a lie.

So Grissom looked down at his desk, then up again. "We'll miss you," he said instead.

He saw Dr. Robbins nod, slowly, before he disappeared into the dark. 


	2. Sara & Nick Make A Horrifying Discovery

**_Author's Note:_** Updates for this story may come more slowly than usual. I'm unusually busy this quarter. But I did make a preview for this story, though warning: it contains minor spoilers for the story. http://www.youtube. com/watch?v ("equal sign") TiiubV6UIb8. Eliminate the space between . com and replace ("equal sign") with an actual equal sign. Enjoy chapter one!

* * *

Chapter One: In Which Sara and Nick Make A Horrifying Discovery

Sara Sidle sniffed as she crouched over the eviscerated corpse in front of her. Her eyes narrowed. "There are bullet holes in him…" she whispered. She looked up at Nick. "Is that new?"

"Wouldn't know," Nick said as he collected some of the victim's blood. "This is Grissom's shtick, not mine."

"Mm…" Sara said. She snapped a few photographs for Grissom's benefit. She lowered the camera, frowning. "So what happened to these folks anyway? Were they attacked by some wild animal?"

"That's what the mayor said," Nick replied. "Grissom thinks differently."

"You know, this isn't really our job," Sara said, taking a few more photos.

"Our job is to investigate deaths under unusual circumstances," Nick returned, putting away his blood sample. "This counts."

"No, this should be done by hospitals and scientists," said Sara, shaking her head.

Nick smirked at her. "We're scientists."

"I didn't say we weren't qualified," she said. "I just think this is more of a medical issue than a legal one."

"How's that?" Nick asked. "Death by wild animal is our deal. We have to determine which one it is, like if it's a canine, or feline, or—"

"It's not an animal attack…" Sara murmured, looking closely at the gaping hole in his stomach.

Nick was curious now and he kneeled down next to her. "Why do you say that?"

She pointed to the edge of the hole, where the flesh was torn. "Look at this…" she said. "The torn bits of skin, they're folding outward, not inward."

"You think something… burst out of his stomach?" Nick asked skeptically.

Sara shrugged. "I think I heard Grissom and Dr. Robbins saying something about this…" She looked at the bullet hole in his head. "But they didn't say anything about bullets."

"So what's the COD, the gaping hole in his chest or the bullet through his brain?" Nick asked.

"We'll leave that to David," she said. The assistant coroner had been filling Dr. Robbins' shoes as of late.

"This is Grissom's thing…" Nick said slowly, looking at Sara while her eyes remained glued to the body. "Why did he send us? He's been so secretive about this deal, mostly because he's not supposed to be doing it, right?"

"I don't really know…" Sara mumbled. "He kind of handed it off to me really quick, says he trusts me to do a good job. He told me to take pictures, and take samples and to be careful. He said something about Dr. Robbins and that he had something urgent to take care of. So I grabbed you and we came here."

"What's up with the Doc?" Nick asked curiously. "He's been away from the lab for weeks now, hasn't he?"

Sara let out a long sigh. "Yeah, I don't know…" She frowned and looked down at the corpse. "What's that in his hand?" She pried his fingers open and then let out a yelp. "Dammit!"

"What happened?" Nick asked, his eyes darting from the corpse's hand to Sara, who was shaking out her hand.

"Fucking razorblade!" she exclaimed, tearing off her glove and examining her finger. "Cut right through the glove…"

"Here, let me see that…" Nick said, and she extended her hand across the corpse. He looked at her cut finger, then down at the corpse's open hand. "Sara, you should get that checked out," he said. "That blade is pretty dirty."

She rolled her eyes. "I've got my Tetanus shot," she said.

Nick leaned over the body and gingerly picked up the blade in his gloved hand. "There's blood on this," he said, and then looked at the man's neck. "That would explain the wounds on his neck…" Nick took a closer look at the neck. "It looks like he was trying to dig something out…"

Sara shook her head. "_So_ weird…" she said. "Come on, let's get out of here. I'm beginning to get the creeps."

"Clean that wound," Nick advised harshly. "You don't know what could have been on that blade."

"Will do," Sara promised. "But not here. This apartment looks like _everything_ is crawling with germs."

Nick looked at the grimy kitchen counter upon which a cockroach was scuttling and then the blood covered floor before he nodded and agreed.

* * *

Neither one of them mentioned the accident to Grissom, for there was no need to, and it was soon far from both of their minds. Grissom thought that by keeping his team in ignorance of the severity of the situation he was protecting them from it.

He returned to the lab well into shift, and Sara gave him a full report of what she and Nick had found at the scene. When he was satisfied, he brushed right past her and spoke in hushed tones to Hodges in the trace lab.

Neither Nick nor Sara had any reason to believe that there was any danger.

Until three days later.

"You doing OK?" Nick asked as they drove back from a crime scene. She had been quiet all day and looked a little too pale for Nick's liking.

"I'm fine," she said stubbornly. "I'm just coming down with a bug, I'll be OK." She shivered and rubbed her arms. "It's cold in here."

"Darlin', you're sweating," Nick said, forcing a laugh.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Dammit, I don't want to be coming down with a fever. I have work to do."

"You never take a day off, do you?" Nick asked with a lopsided smirk.

She didn't speak, she simply stared out the window and shivered as she tried to warm her sweaty arms. Nick pulled into a parking space.

"You best not let Grissom see you like that, he'll send you home in a heartbeat," Nick said. "Can't say I blame him. You look like shit."

"Like you've never had a bad day…" Sara muttered glaring at Nick.

The Texan laughed and shook his head, but eyed her with concern. "You sure you don't want me to drive you home?"

But she closed her eyes and shook her head. "It's just a bug, it'll pass."

Nick knew that Sara was a stubborn animal, and nothing short of God himself would change her mind. So he sighed and got out of the car, and she made to do the same.

"Ecklie'll throw a fit," he said as he locked up the car. "You know all his talk about contaminating evidence and spreading— Sara, you really look like you oughtta sit down." As he rounded the corner of the car, he saw his friend leaning against the door frame, her eyes closed as she took deep breaths. He sincerely thought she had fallen asleep. He walked briskly towards her and felt her forehead with the back of her hand. It was white hot. He quickly opened the passenger door, anxiety welling in his chest as he guided her back into the seat.

"Just a bug is all…" she muttered. "Little dizzy."

"Yeah, I can see that," Nick said, getting on his knees and searching for his water bottle on the floor of the car. He found it and straightened up again, gently pouring some on her forehead and hair.

"Hey, quit it, that's freezing!" Sara protested, knocking the bottle out of his hand.

"You're burning up," Nick said, all amusement gone from his voice. "Let me take you to a hospital—"

"It's not as bad as it looks, I _promise_!" Sara snapped, her eyes fierce. "I just got a little _dizzy_! And _you_ got me all _wet_!" She ran a hand through her hair and shook it out.

Nick watched her for a long time, and she watched him right back. She was hot, and she was shivering, and she was paler than a corpse, but she was wild, and she was ferocious.

Finally he sighed. "I'm just worried for you, that's all."

She closed her eyes and seemed to calm down herself. "Don't, Nick, if there's one thing I can't stand it's when people—" But she cut herself off with a cough. It seemed like an ordinary cough at first, but then her hand flew to her chest and it sounded raspy and painful as she doubled over.

"Sara? Sara!" Nick cried out. He put his hand on her back.

"I'm fine…" she said after a moment. She cleared her throat once more for good measure, then smiled up at Nick, who smiled back at her and pushed the hair away from her face. Then, all of a sudden, she coughed again, and blood spewed from her mouth before she doubled over once more and covered her mouth with her hands.

Horrified, Nick wiped Sara's blood from his face, unaware of the metallic tang in his mouth as every thought that wasn't Sara fled to the back of his mind.

"Aw, _hell_ no," he growled, jumping to his feet. He swung her legs inside of the car and ran to the driver's side before driving her to the hospital, dialing Grissom on the way in.

* * *

Nick paced back and forth in the waiting room, his hands over his mouth to keep from hyperventilating. A fever, that was one thing, but coughing up blood was something else entirely and he had no idea what, and it was really stressing him out. He moved his hands up his face and raked them through his hair. Grissom was going to kill him.

And as if he was summoned by Nick's thoughts, Grissom rounded the corner into the waiting room and Nick suddenly stopped pacing.

The two men looked at each other a moment. Grissom's blue eyes were petrified, his face haggard and worn. He looked much older than he did a few days ago.

Nick felt compelled to speak. "Grissom, I swear, I have no idea—"

"When you were at the crime scene three days ago," Grissom interrupted desperately. "Did either of you come in contact with the blood?"

This confused Nick. "Grissom, I honestly don't—"

"_Think_, Nick!" Grissom yelled furiously, startling the poor Texan. "Did she come in contact with the victim's blood?!"

Nick's brown eyes were wide. "Uh… I— yes! Oh God, yes, she cut her finger on a razor blade, but I told her to clean it, and she did as soon as she could, she said it was nothing, said it didn't even hurt…" The color drained from Nick's face. "Oh my God, Grissom, you don't think…"

But by now, Grissom had fallen into a chair, breathless, staring vacantly at the wall across the room. "I don't think, Nick, I _know_," he whispered. "It's a parasite, it lives in the blood, it's been infecting these people… It infected Dr. Robbins."

"_What_?!" Nick shrieked. "You can't be serious!"

Grissom slowly shook his head. "I told her to be careful…"

"Dr. Robbins?!" Nick echoed. "What… I mean, how…"

"Same way Sara did…" Grissom whispered. "From one of the bodies we brought in."

Nick's brow was furrowed with deep concern. "Grissom, how's Dr. Robbins doing?"

Grissom chewed on his lip. "He's dying."

It was Nick's turn to fall into a chair, his legs suddenly too weak to stand. "Just by… blood…" And then, a memory knocked on the door to his consciousness, and a frozen wave of fear paralyzed him. He opened his mouth, which was dry as a bone, his lower lip trembling. "Gr-Grissom?" he choked, sounding so terrible he made his supervisor look over at him.

"What is it, Nick?" Grissom asked.

"I think…" He blinked a few times then glanced at Grissom. "I think I have it too."

Grissom was immediately kneeling in front of Nick and felt his forehead. "No, if you'd caught it with Sara, you'd be showing symptoms by now… Jesus, I should never have—"

"No," Nick said, shaking his head. "I think I got it from Sara."

Grissom was quiet. His next words were low and deliberate. "How, Nick?"

He sighed and shook his head, staring at the floor. "I don't know, she started coughing, and I was scared, and then she was coughing up blood, and it got on me… On my face… I don't remember if my mouth was open but I think it got in my eyes… Shit."

Grissom cupped his hands over his mouth and nose, closing his eyes. "Nick, I am…" He took a deep breath and shook his head before he opened his eyes and his hands slid off of his face. "I'm working on fixing this," he said. "Dr. Robbins has been walking me through the research he's done, and he's been in contact with a researcher who has worked with this thing before, so there's a good chance…"

He stopped when he realized that Nick wasn't listening to him anymore, his eyes glistening in the florescent light. "What's going to happen to her?" he asked Grissom.

Grissom shrugged. "She'll recover from this," he said. "And she'll feel fine for a while. In the first two weeks, she'll have a few more fevers, a few more coughing fits… In the third week she'll feel a tingling sensation under her skin… Like coke bugs… In the fourth week, she'll be so weak she can barely stand. She'll begin to lose control of her motor functions and something… else… will interfere with her nervous system as they deteriorate. The fifth week she'll lose complete control over her body and… in the sixth week, she'll most likely die."

"What week is Dr. Robbins in?" Nick breathed.

Grissom licked his lips and looked down. "His fifth. He's refusing to see me, now. I'm not sure why. He gives me information over the phone."

"So what is this, Grissom?" Nick whispered. "I mean, parasite is a pretty generic word. Is it a virus, bacteria, protist, what?"

Grissom pursed his lips. "None of the above."

Nick frowned and was about to ask more, when Sara's doctor appeared in the door to the waiting room. Both Nick and Grissom leapt to their feet to hear what he had to say.

"Sara's doing fine," he said with a smile. "She just had a small fever, but we gave her some antiviral medication and cooled her down. She's actually just been discharged, she's putting her clothes back on right now."

"Doctor…" Grissom began slowly. "I have reason to believe that there's a parasite that's infected her, I think you should run a few tests—"

"She's all clear," the doctor assured him, his smile still in place, almost robotic in quality. "All tests were negative. She's perfectly healthy."

Grissom frowned. There was a red corona around the doctor's pupils. "Doctor, I'm sure you know best, but this is an illness that hasn't been—"

"She's perfectly healthy," the doctor repeated.

Nick and Grissom exchanged looks. "OK, look, if you take some of her blood, or…" Grissom looked at Nick. "Or better yet, take some of his. Just look at it under the microscope, you'll see hundreds of tiny spores…" He stopped when he noticed Nick flinch.

"We've already taken her blood," said the doctor. "It's normal."

Grissom was about to protest again when Nick cut him off. "OK," he said. "Can we see her?"

The doctor nodded and stepped aside. He gestured down the hall and told them what room Sara was in. Nick thanked him and headed down the hall with Grissom.

"That doctor was lying," Grissom muttered, shaking his head.

"Did you see his eyes?" Nick asked. "That was weird. Is that a congenital thing or…"

"I've never seen anything like it," Grissom replied, wracking his brain to make sure this statement was true.

Nick licked his lips. "Maybe the hospital's seen this sort of thing before…" he guessed. "Maybe they know they can't fix it, so they pretend like nothing's wrong. If that's the case, then Grissom… what are we going to do when things get worse?"

Grissom heaved a long sigh. "I'll keep up with Dr. Robbins' research," he said. "I'll get in contact with his friend." They stopped outside of Sara's room and Nick was about to enter when Grissom put a hand on his shoulder, making Nick look at him curiously. "I promise we'll find a cure, Nick," he vowed, his eyes sharp and determined.

Slowly, Nick nodded and eventually smiled. "I have no doubt that you will," he said, and then opened the door.

Sara was pulling on her shoes when they entered and looked up at them, beaming. "Great!" she cried. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to take the bus back to the lab."

"You won't be going to the lab," Grissom told her seriously.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm absolutely fine," she said. "Come on, didn't the doctors tell you? There's _nothing_ wrong with me!"

Grissom sat down next to her on the bed, finding his knees vastly more interesting than her cheerful face. He rubbed his thighs with his hands as he tried to think of the best way to tell her. "The doctors are lying," he whispered. "And we aren't sure why."

She laughed. "That's ridiculous, the doctors have no reason to lie."

"They might," Nick said, walking over to the both of them slowly. "Sara— Grissom thinks you're sick. Really sick. With something that doctors can't help you with."

"I'm not crazy," she assured Nick. "Believe me, I've had like ten psych evaluations in my lifetime and they all told me the same thing."

He smiled. "No, not that kind of sick…" But he trailed off and looked at Grissom. Apparently Nick didn't want to tell her either.

"You have a parasite," Grissom said, loud and casually, as if he was commenting on the weather. "It's living in your blood stream. And right now, we're not sure how to stop it. But Dr. Robbins made a good start. We haven't seen anything like this before, and I have no idea what it is." He finally worked up the courage to turn and look at her intense brown eyes, dark with curiosity. His heart lurched. "But I promise we'll figure out how to beat it." He put a hand on her cheek as her brow furrowed in bewilderment. His thumb caressed her soft, pale skin. "I won't lose you."

Slowly, she nodded. "It's what's been killing those people, isn't it?" she inquired quietly. "That corpse you made me and Nick check out."

Grissom couldn't lie to her. "Yes, honey."

She was less upset than he expected as a smile claimed her features. "I trust you," she said, and it nearly broke his heart. He looked up at Nick, who was purposefully looking away from them in an attempt to give them some privacy, or maybe an attempt to escape reality if only for a moment.

"Nick?" Grissom called. The Texan didn't move. Grissom's eyes gravitated toward the floor, a pang of guilt stabbing him in his gut. He should never have sent them. This was his investigation. He should have never pulled them into this.

But then, Sara called his name, and Nick jumped, as though startled that she would deign to speak to him. She gave him an encouraging smile. "I'll be OK."

He grinned at her. "Of course you will," he whispered, and Grissom saw he was fighting back tears. Sara didn't know about Dr. Robbins. And Sara didn't know about Nick. And it was in her ignorance that she found hope. Neither Grissom nor Nick wanted to break that.

"So what are we going to do now?" Nick asked Grissom, changing the subject. Grissom glanced at Sara and noticed that she was watching him eagerly as well. On the one hand, it pained him to have them assist him in their present condition, but on the other Dr. Robbins had made great progress with his research all throughout his illness, when he could control his own muscles.

"We go back to the lab," Grissom replied at last. "There's someone I want you to meet."


	3. Greg Pretends And Catherine Is Annoyed

**_Author's Note:_** Writing for this is slow going, but I'm wrapping up chapter four... Sorry about Dr. Robbins... really, really sorry. Anyways, here's chapter two.

* * *

Chapter Two: In Which Greg Pretends And Catherine Is Annoyed 

Catherine Willows was on her last nerve as she went through the stacks of paper on Grissom's desk. During the past month he had become more and more withdrawn as he became more and more obsessed with a case he wasn't supposed to be working on. She, like Ecklie, begrudgingly let him, even if it meant that the rest of them had to pick up the slack, because she felt a dark cloud was looming on the horizon, and someone had to be their weatherman to let them know what to expect.

Nonetheless, it bothered her when he disappeared from the lab without a word. To make matters worse, Sara and Nick were missing too, when they should have been back hours ago. She, Nick and Warrick were stretched very thin.

"Hey, there you are."

Catherine looked up and saw an exhausted Warrick leaning against the doorframe as he gave her a tired smile. She sighed and fell into Grissom's chair. "You wanna go home?"

"Thinking about it," he said, looking at his watch. "Unless you still need me."

"What's Greg up to?"

"He's still cataloguing spatter patterns from the crime scene on Crescent, and after that he's going to interview some hooker in the Marlowe case."

Catherine bit her lip. "Warrick, would you mind…"

He sighed and rolled his eyes before he turned away from her. "Alright, alright, I'll help him out," he groaned, dragging his feet.

"I'm sorry!" she called after him.

He raised his hand to show that he heard her but kept on walking. Catherine sighed as she leaned back in Grissom's chair, then frowned as she realized she was sitting on something. She moved to reveal her cell phone. Jubilant with success, she immediately dialed Grissom.

"Where the hell are you?!" she shrieked as soon as he answered.

"Catherine, calm down, something's come up."

She bit her tongue to keep from snapping back. "Well you know, Gil, something's come up over here too. I just sent Warrick to help Greg out, who by the way are now both working overtime because Nick and Sara decided to just not return from their crime scene and—"

"Nick and Sara are with me."

For some reason, this only made her more irritated. "Oh fantastic," she snarled sarcastically. "Are you guys having a party without us or what?"

"No, Catherine, listen, they're sick, I'm getting them help."

Her anger dissolved immediately into guilt. "Grissom, I… Sick with what?"

"We're not entirely sure," Grissom replied. "Listen, Catherine, I need you to do me a favor. I'm supposed to be meeting someone at my office about now. His name is Luis Sera, if you would just tell him to wait and that I'll be right there…"

She hated doing Grissom's dirty work, but if there was something wrong with Nick and Sara… "Alright," she sighed. "What does he look like?"

"I don't know, we've never met," Grissom replied. "He'll probably be at the front desk or something, just… find him."

"Sure thing," Catherine breathed, knowing she was in for a long double shift. She hung up on Grissom and headed out the door to find Judy at the front desk.

As Catherine exited, Greg rounded the corner absently, looking at photograph after photograph in the file he held. He looked up to see the room absent of any occupant and looked around to make sure he was alone. Shrugging, he moved towards Grissom's desk and opened a drawer, looking for a ruler.

Someone knocked on the door and Greg looked up.

"Dr. Grissom?" the man said, with a thick Spanish accent. Greg began to shake his head, but the man smiled and stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. "Excellent, we must talk right away."

"I'm sorry but—"

"There's no need to apologize," the man said. "My name is Luis Sera, I believe Dr. Robbins told you of me."

_Dr. Robbins_? Greg thought absently. "No, I mean…"

"I am the researcher," Luis clarified. "I'm sure he mentioned me."

"Researcher?" Greg's interest was piqued. Maybe he could pretend to be Grissom… for a little while.

Luis nodded quickly. "There isn't much time. How is the illness progressing?"

Greg assumed this had to do with all the dead bodies that were cropping up. "It's spreading," he replied. "Claiming more victims every day."

"I figured as much," Luis said. "But I mean in Dr. Robbins. Is he still… himself?"

Greg frowned. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't he be himself?"

Luis nodded. "Sit down, Dr. Grissom. We won't be able to trust Dr. Robbins for much longer." Greg slowly took a seat in Grissom's chair as Luis took the chair opposite the desk. "Las Plagas are a very serious threat to your city, Dr. Grissom. They do not only kill. They manipulate their corpses."

"Then why do all the corpses have holes in their stomachs?" Greg asked.

"That is… another story…" Luis said slowly.

Greg was beyond intrigued. "What…?"

"There is a cure," Luis said quickly, changing the subject. "And a vaccine. But it was stolen from me in Spain. I had to leave quickly, before they killed me. I need to study the parasite, so I can replicate my work from there."

"Why don't you just go back to Spain and get it?" Greg asked.

Luis laughed. "Are you crazy? They would tear me to pieces!"

"They, who's they?" Greg asked.

Luis frowned at Greg, as if he was asking ridiculous questions. "Las Plagas."

Up until this point, Greg had thought that 'Las Plagas' was the disease ravaging the city, but apparently he was wrong. He thought it would blow his cover if he asked what 'Las Plagas' really was, so instead he feigned understanding. "Right… What are they still doing in Spain?"

Luis smiled. "They're _from_ Spain. And some are still lurking around the village which they decimated in the infected Ganados. Listen, what you need to know is that there are three kinds of Las Plagas. The workers, the breeders, and the queen. I fear by Dr. Robbins' symptoms that he has been infected by a worker. They take control of their hosts, but they are manipulated by the queen. Las Plagas are a hive mind, Dr. Grissom. They work with a collective intelligence towards a common goal, which is currently to infect the human race and propagate their species. We cannot allow this to happen. Otherwise, it will end up like that Spanish village."

Greg was beyond confused. "So let me get this straight… Dr. Robbins is… infected with one of these… things, and it's a worker… What do the breeders do?"

"Be thankful it was a worker that infected the doctor," Luis said seriously. "Breeders, they are much more painful."

Greg was morbidly curious. "How do you mean?"

Luis sighed and leaned back in his chair. "The workers, they travel to the brain stem where they gain control of the body while the chemicals they release destroy the central nervous system. But the breeders, once they have matured inside the host's chest, send out eggs and spores throughout the blood stream, until the eggs hatch and then—"

"Greg!"

The young CSI was so shocked by the sound of his name that he kicked back in the chair and it tumbled backwards. Luis looked over at the door.

"I'm sorry, this is a private conversation," said the Spaniard. "Can I help you?"

"Private conversation?" Catherine's irritated voice floated into Greg's ears as he slowly peeked over the desk. Her arms were folded and she was glaring right back at Greg who flinched behind the desk. She looked back at Luis. "Mr. Sera, I presume?"

Luis looked baffled. "You know of me?"

"Yes," Catherine said. "Gil Grissom told me to tell you that he will be a little late. He's had to deal with a situation, but he'll be with you shortly."

Luis looked about to ask a question when Catherine preempted it and Greg sank further under the desk.

"And the 'private conversation' you've been having isn't with Gil Grissom, it's with a member of his team called _Greg Sanders_."

And now, two pairs of eyes were burning holes through Grissom's desk and Greg winced.

"Greg, get out from behind that desk. _Now_."

Catherine's cold demand slowly forced Greg to his feet and he hung his head in shame, avoiding Luis Sera's eyes.

"What the hell is this?" Luis hissed.

Greg shrugged and looked up, regretting the action instantly. "Sorry, I tried to tell you, but then you mentioned the illness and that you were a researcher and… I got curious. Sorry."

Luis sighed. "It is alright," he said. "Curiosity is healthy, especially in this instance. The more your city knows, the better prepared it will be." He turned to Catherine. "When will Dr. Grissom be arriving?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, he didn't say what he was doing." But she wasn't as easily appeased as Luis as she continued to glower at Greg who shrank under her stare. "Greg, I thought you had work to do. Or are you making Warrick do it all for you?"

"Right!" Greg said and he turned to Grissom's desk and made to grab a file before he hesitated and bit his lip.

"What's the matter?" Catherine asked, testily.

Greg's face contorted in sheepishness. "Er… I put my file on his desk… somewhere…"

"Oh for God's sake, Greg!" Catherine exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air and walking briskly over to Grissom's desk as she sorted through the files. Finally, she found one. "Here!" she snapped, and handed it to Greg.

Greg frowned down at the photographs within the folder. "Catherine, this isn't—"

"Get out of here, I need to talk to Dr. Sera," Catherine hissed.

Catherine was in no mood to be dissuaded so Greg made for the door. But Catherine spoke before he left, and he stopped.

"What were the two of you discussing?" Catherine asked calmly, a strong spark of something indefinable in her eyes. Greg looked at her over his shoulder.

"Las Plagas," Luis replied evenly. "The parasite that's been plaguing your town."

Her eyes moved to the corner of the room. "So this… this is a sickness," she guessed quietly.

"Yes," Luis agreed.

"It makes people sick," Catherine muttered.

"That is usually what a sickness does…" Luis said slowly. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Catherine Willows," she whispered, her voice now barely audible as she was obviously lost in thought.

"Ms. Willows, is something wrong?"

She took a deep breath and held it a moment. She looked over her shoulder, as if acknowledging Greg's presence in the room. And though she was answering Luis's question, her eyes lingered on Greg. "Grissom said that he was late because two members of his staff—" She looked at Luis. "—both colleagues and dear friends of mine, you must understand— had become… in his words… 'sick.' And he wouldn't tell me with what. He said he didn't know."

Greg looked up at her with wide eyed. "Who—"

"Nick," Catherine said, turning to him so swiftly, her hair flew into the air. "And Sara."

"Ah…" Luis said, leaning back in his chair, drawing both Catherine and Greg's attention. "Yes, that _is_ cause for concern…" He seemed pensive a moment then smiled sadly at her. "If you care about them like your distracted eyes tell me that you do, you should spend as much time with them now as you can. They'll be dead to you in three to six weeks."

She inhaled curtly, the beginning of a stifled gasp, but other than that she showed no other emotion. "Does it hurt?" she whimpered.

Luis looked away from her. It was the only answer she needed.

It was the only answer Greg needed too. Opening the door wide, he slammed it shut as he marched down the hall.

* * *

Greg was gritting his teeth as he moved blindly down the hall, everything that Luis and Catherine had said were echoing through his mind. He could think of nothing else.

"_They do not only kill. They manipulate their corpses._"

"_The workers, they travel to the brain stem… The breeders, once they have matured inside the host's chest, send out eggs throughout the blood stream, until the eggs hatch… Breeders are much more painful…_"

He was so caught up in his own thoughts he ran headlong into someone like a pigeon into a window.

"Greg?"

He was on the floor and he got to his knees. He blinked and through his blurred vision he could make out Sara's pale face, frowning as she stared at him in concern, also on her knees and holding his shoulder. He blinked a few times before he smiled and threw his arms around her neck. Obviously shocked, she tentatively raised her arms to return the embrace.

"Greg, what's wrong?" she asked.

He pulled away and looked at her, still grinning, when he realized she wasn't the only one there. Nick and Grissom were standing on either side of the pair kneeling in the hallway and watching them peculiarly.

"You're OK," Greg stated, as if it were obvious and yet relieving at the same time. "I was worried."

Nick and Grissom seemed to exchange looks but Sara smiled. "Of course I'm OK," she said. "Are _you_?"

He laughed lightly and shrugged. "Nah, it's just, you don't _look_ sick, and Catherine said… and then all that talk… Las Plagas… Never mind."

"What?" Grissom's voice was breathless and cold and it chased Greg's smile away as the younger CSI looked up at him.

"Um… Your guy Luis? Yeah, he's in talking with Catherine right now."

"Is that the researcher you mentioned?" Nick asked, turning to Grissom sharply.

"Yes, but—"

"Let me talk to him," Nick said firmly. "You owe me that much."

"Why does he owe you that much?" Greg asked, looking from one to the other.

Grissom seemed exceptionally uncomfortable while Sara watched the scene inscrutably. Grissom looked over at her and their eyes met. He opened his mouth, but didn't speak. She rubbed her arms and looked away from him, pursing her lips.

"Sara…"

"It's not your fault," Sara whispered.

"I don't like the way you guys are talking," Greg said slowly, uncertainly. "What's going on?"

"Greg," Sara said with a smile. "I'm hungry, come get something to eat with me."

"Don't you want to—"

"No," Sara said swiftly, interrupting Nick's confused query. "I'd rather not know."

Greg was frowning, looking between the three of them and knowing there was something important that he was missing. But Sara grabbed his arm.

"Come on, Greg," she said, watching Grissom. "Let's go."

And reluctantly, Greg allowed her to drag him away, watching the tension between Grissom and Nick over his shoulder. But he figured he could pull a few answers out of Sara.


	4. Nick Learns More and Sara Gets Worse

**_Author's Note:_** I don't like not having a posting routine... but there oughta be an update at least weekly.

* * *

Chapter Three: In Which Nick Learns More and Sara Gets Worse 

Grissom and Nick stepped into the former's office to see Luis and Catherine there in silence. Both of them turned to look at Nick and Grissom. Catherine's face fell and she walked swiftly over to Nick before placing her hands on either side of his face and tilting her head down to look up into his eyes. Her hand brushed his forehead and ran through his hair before he pushed her off.

"I'm fine, Catherine," he muttered, irritably, and she withdrew her hands to her chest.

She was about to open her mouth to protest, when Luis broke in. "He's right, Ms. Willows. He is fine for now." He cocked his head to the side, taking in Nick's appearance. "You're one of the newly infected?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know."

Luis smiled. "If you were infected, you would know."

"It took Sara three days to show symptoms," Nick replied. "I was just exposed to it today. I might not have it."

"Sara…" Catherine began, holding her breath.

"Is fine," Grissom assured her. "She's with Greg. Don't worry."

"Yet," Luis added on grimly. The three CSIs turned to look at the researcher and he rose to his feet. His fingertips were pressed lightly together as he watched the floor. "This girl, this Sara, what symptoms did she have?"

"Violent coughing," Nick said evenly. "Fever. Dizziness. I think she lost consciousness in the car on the way over."

Luis nodded, as if he had heard this all before. "Blood?"

Nick took a deep breath. "Yes."

Luis looked up sharply at this affirmation. "Did you have an open wound…?"

"My mouth," he replied, still tasting the metallic tang although there was no longer any blood there.

Luis looked down again, seemingly unimpressed. For a moment, Nick's heart swelled. Maybe this meant he wasn't infected. Maybe he would be OK. Maybe he could focus on Sara, and helping her, rather than worrying about himself. Maybe he could—

"You definitely have the parasite," Luis said monotonously, dashing all of Nick's hopes instantly. Catherine seemed to stifle a sob. Nick glanced at her, but quickly looked away. He couldn't stand to see the tears in her eyes. Not when he felt his own tears, stinging the back of his eyelids like angry bees, waiting to fly out and expose his insecurities.

"What do we do?" Grissom asked evenly.

Luis looked up and shook his head, helplessly. "There is nothing you can do," he said. "Dr. Robbins and I have been working to retrace the steps I took to develop the vaccine. The vaccine comes first, and then from that we can derive the cure, to battle the parasite after it has infected a host, but…" He glanced at Nick. "It's only effective fifty percent of the time, if the parasite has already matured within the host. It's completely useless after the Plaga has reached its final adult stage."

Catherine reached out and took Nick's hand. Nick fought the temptation to pull away from her grasp. "What's…" Nick cleared his throat. "What's its final adult stage?"

"That depends," Luis told him, "on whether it is a worker, or a breeder."

"Which one does Sara have?" Nick asked.

Luis shrugged. "It is difficult to say. The symptoms start out very similar. In its early stages, both are very contagious as well." At this, Nick did yank his hand away from Catherine's, who looked almost hurt. Luis smiled grimly. "It is a blood born parasite. It is only contagious if someone comes in contact with your blood."

Nick cupped his hands over his nose and mouth. He felt nauseous, but he doubted it had anything to do with the parasite, at least not directly. "I need to sit down…"

Catherine immediately led him to a nearby chair and Grissom watched him like a hawk. He looked up at Grissom with tired brown eyes, a sudden chill dancing over his skin.

"What's the difference between a breeder and a worker?" Nick asked quietly.

"I was explaining this to your friend," Luis said slowly. "He reacted badly enough when he slammed the door, I don't want to upset you—"

"Just tell me," Nick snapped.

Luis didn't move. "A worker travels up the spine where it latches onto the brain stem in order to intercept the signals sent to your central nervous system. Meanwhile, it produces a chemical which eats away at your meninges and cerebral cortex like acid. Eventually, it gains control of the central nervous system entirely, and the host loses first his identity, followed by the rest of his brain, which, being of no use to the parasite, it eats. The host will be dead, in most senses of the word, but he will still walk, and talk, as though he were still living."

Nick knew he didn't want that to happen to him. "And the breeders, what of them?"

"Breeders tend to nestle in the chest or stomach cavities quite comfortably while they send out their eggs into the blood stream in order to incubate them. Once the eggs hatch, after about two weeks, they will begin to swim back towards their mother. Depending upon where the parasite has taken up residence, the host will, at first, feel pressure in this area, as if either a weight is pressing down on them or something wants to burst out of their body. This feeling will only increase as the days progress and the parasites gather with their mother where they will begin to eat their way out of the host, sometime in week three or four. The host is generally dead by the end of the fourth week."

"Those corpses we found…" Grissom murmured. "They had holes in their stomachs. You're not telling me—"

"Yes, Dr. Grissom," Luis interrupted. "It is a much more painful way to die, to be eaten from the inside. Unfortunately, the host is conscious for most of it."

"How do we find this cure?" It was the first time Catherine had said anything since Nick and Grissom's arrival.

"I'll need Dr. Robbins' notes," Luis said. "From what I hear, he's very close." He turned to Nick. "I have found the cure once before, I can find it again. I won't make any promises, but I'm fairly sure I will be able to help you."

Nick nodded absently. "You guys go see Doc Robbins," he said. "I'll… stay here."

Catherine took a step towards him. "Nicky…"

But he held up a hand, successfully stopping her in her tracks as well as if he'd have physically restrained her. "Don't, Catherine. Please, just… don't."

She didn't seem to know what to do, and they were all frozen there in a strange tableau of uncertainty, until a knock at the door broke the tension. It opened to reveal Warrick, and Nick envied him for his ignorance.

"Great, you guys are back," he said, smiling exhaustedly. But the smile slowly faded as he felt the somberness radiating from every person in the room. "What's wrong?"

* * *

Greg felt guilty about biting into his hamburger when Sara only sat there staring at her untouched veggie burger. He had so many questions, but still had the presence of mind to swallow before he asked them. "You said you were hungry."

"I'm not anymore."

"Did you happen to binge on some secret veggie egg roll stash on the way over? Or did you just eat the interior of your car?" Greg tried to smile. It was hard.

But she just shrugged and stared at her hamburger. "No, I just… lost my appetite."

Greg put down his hamburger and looked at her seriously. "You have to tell me what's going on. Do you and Nick really have this thing inside you?"

Sara wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she continued to stare at her food. "Yeah..." she said absently. "Yeah, I'm sick."

"And Nick?" Greg pressed, his heart already caught in his throat.

She blinked and looked up at Greg. "What about Nick?"

"Is he sick too?"

"No, why would he be?"

Greg thought about that for a moment. "Grissom told Catherine that he was."

Sara's brow was furrowed in curiosity. "I don't think he… I don't know why he would be."

"Maybe he's not," Greg said quickly. "Which is good. It's just… one less friend I have to worry about losing."

She looked away from him. "Please don't say that, Greg…"

Greg looked down at his own plate. "Luis Sera told me that… told Catherine and I that... You'll only have three to six weeks to live."

She slammed her hands down on the table. "Dammit, Greg, why do you have to talk about this?" she snapped. "Do you think I want to _listen_ to this? Really?!" She took a deep breath and calmed down, looking off to the side. "I just wanted to go out and get something to eat."

"And yet you aren't eating."

"Bite me."

He pursed his lips. Obviously he had taken the wrong course of action. He tried a different approach. "OK… What do you want to talk about?"

She shrugged. "Anything," she said.

"Well then—"

"Anything but _that_."

He sighed. "Look, I'm just—"

"I know what you are," Sara interrupted in a low, sharp hiss. "You're worried about me. You want to know what's going on. You're confused. You're curious. But Greg, do I look sick to you? I'm fine now, so there's no need to worry, because maybe it just went away, I mean the doctors said it went away, it's just Grissom and that stupid researcher who said it didn't go away and I just…" She closed her eyes then opened them again to look over at Greg. "I just want to pretend… if only for a little while… that Grissom is wrong."

Greg was silent as he looked down at his food. Suddenly he, too, had lost his appetite. Because he knew she was absolutely right of course. His horrified curiosity would only make things more difficult for her, and no matter how much he wanted answers to his so many questions, he shouldn't ask them. Because she was more scared than he was.

He looked up at her again and forced a grin, hiding away his true fears behind a façade of goofy optimism. "So I was at this crime scene the other day," he began loudly, cheerily. "And you'll never believe what happened."

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Greg."

He returned the smile and continued with his story. "There was this little kid who thought he had discovered a dinosaur bone, right, because it was so…" He trailed off. Something was rattling and Greg's eyes gravitated to Sara's hand, which was quaking on top of the table. His eyebrows instantly knitted together. "You're shaking."

She blinked. "No I'm not."

He reached across the table and put his hand over hers. It continued to tremble. She looked down at her hand, then up at Greg again, utterly bewildered. She opened her mouth.

"Don't," Greg said, clinging tightly to her hand and he looked at her. "It's just a little shake. I was just getting used to this pretending thing."

She tried to smile, but she closed her eyes and flinched. Her hand was clammy underneath his, and he saw a bead of sweat drip down the side of her temple. "Greg—"

He was immediately on his feet and nearly vaulted the table between them in an effort to get to her as fast as he could. He pulled her into his arms, the side of her head resting against his chest, and she continued to quake. His hand shot to her forehead, which was burning up. Another fever, and now her body was seizing as well. This was only getting worse.

By now, they had attracted the attention of everyone else in the restaurant, and a waitress was standing there staring at them with a tray held up in the air with one hand. "Go call an ambulance!" Greg snapped at her, and she nodded quickly before dashing off.

Sara was clinging tightly to his arm, still trembling like crazy. "Greg…"

"Sh…" he whispered, stroking her hair. "Hang on, OK? They're getting an ambulance."

"Not Desert Palms…" she breathed.

"Why not?" Greg asked.

"Just… _not_!"

"OK! OK, we'll take you to Mercy… just… be strong, OK?" He held onto her tightly as she squeezed the life out of his arm.

"I don't…" Tears coursed down her cheeks. "I don't want t-to…"

"Hush," he soothed. "I don't want that either."

"Grissom…" she choked.

"I'll call him," Greg assured her. "I'll call him, just…"

"It's so hot…" she breathed. She jolted in his arms and Greg panicked. He needed to cool her down, if he couldn't stop her shaking.

"Sara? Sara, can you hear me?"

She didn't respond as she convulsed in his arms and he knew that it was a full blown seizure. He gently laid her down on the floor, her head in his lap, before he grabbed the pitcher of water on the table and dipped a napkin in it before lightly dabbing at her head. He seized her wrist and checked her vitals, unbuttoning her sleeves and tilting her head to the side.

"Come on, Sara…" he pleaded. "Come on, you're scaring me…"

And then, finally, the paramedics arrived and pulled Greg away from Sara, and he could do nothing but watch them work as she continued to seize. Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed Grissom immediately.

"Grissom."

"Yeah, um…" He realized his voice was shaking and he swallowed. "Sara's… Sara is..."

"What happened, Greg?" Grissom was brisk and to the point.

"I don't know, I mean, one minute she was fine and the next…" he trailed off. "She, uh, she started shaking, and then she had this fever and… now she's gone into convulsions and I don't know what to do. Grissom, she was so hot…"

Grissom was quiet a moment. "How is she now?"

Greg shrugged, becoming more worried now. "She's still convulsing. It's been almost four minutes."

But just as he said it, she stopped shaking, and Greg could now discern her chest rising and falling, her eyes closed. The paramedics lifted her onto a stretcher and looked over at Greg.

"Does she have any prior medical conditions?" one of them asked.

Greg shook his head, and then stopped. "I-I mean, I don't really know, but… I think it was the fever."

"It was exceptionally high," the medic agreed as his coworkers took Sara outside. "We're going to take her to Desert Palms."

"Go to Mercy," Greg said quickly.

The medic frowned. "Mercy is twenty miles further away from here than Desert Palms. We're taking her there."

"No, she asked to go to Mercy," Greg insisted. "Please. She's stopped seizing, she should be able to take the trip."

The medic pursed his lips. "Alright," he said. "We'll take her to Mercy."

"Did I hear they're taking her to Mercy?" Grissom asked as Greg watched the medic run out the door.

"Yeah, for some reason Sara didn't want to go to Desert Palms."

Greg could hear the pride in Grissom's voice. "Good girl… There's something off about the doctors at Desert Palms. Alright. Alright, I'll send Nick and Warrick over there. Catherine and I are on our way over to Dr. Robbins' to speak with him. I'll call you later to see how things are going."

"OK," Greg was nodding, though he knew Grissom couldn't see him. "Sure, will do. Bye."


	5. Dr Robbins Is Lost & Grissom Chooses

**_Author's Note:_** Once again: so, so sorry for Doc Robbins. Long chapter this week. Have fun.

* * *

Chapter Four: In Which Dr. Robbins Is Lost and Grissom Makes A Choice

Grissom knocked for the fifth time on Dr. Robbins door before he began to get worried. It normally took the doctor a moment or two to get to the door but he at least called to acknowledge that they knocked. He and Catherine exchanged looks.

"Al?" he called to the door. "Are you in there?"

There was a scratching sound on the other side of the door and it opened a crack, the chain holding it in place as a bloodshot eye peered out at them. Catherine's heart sank.

"Oh Al…" she breathed.

He seemed to frown. "Go away," he grunted.

He tried to close the door, but Luis stepped forward and stopped him, glaring at the doctor. "Dr. Robbins…" he sighed. "I am truly sorry. You are a good man."

Dr. Robbins' eyes narrowed. "Get out. Now."

He tried to close the door again but Luis drew a gun.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Catherine cried.

But Luis rammed his shoulder into the door, snapping the chain and pushing the door open and Dr. Robbins recoiled, stumbling backward into the room as Luis pointed his gun at him.

"Luis, stop that!" Grissom ordered.

"No!" Luis cried. "Can't you see? He's not the man you knew!"

"What are you _talking_ about?" Catherine shrieked.

Dr. Robbins was slowly moving back to a table, looking pale and worn and drenched in sweat. Every surface in the apartment was covered with files and test tubes and Petri dishes. A make-shift lab to help discern what was infecting the city and how to stop it. As Catherine and Grissom moved into the apartment they noted that it reeked of stale dust and rancid milk, and there was the distinct, putrid odor of something rotten, like a corpse had been decaying there for a long time.

Catherine let out a disgusted gasp as she covered her mouth and nose. "Oh Al, what's happened to you?"

"He's dead," Luis replied. "And soon, I'll make him deader."

"You can't _shoot_ him for Christ's sake!" Grissom exclaimed.

"Would you rather he kill us?" Luis returned. "Look at him, Dr. Grissom. Look at his _eyes_."

And Grissom did, intently, and he noticed for the first time that Dr. Robbins' eyes were not only blood shot, but he had twin red coronas around his pupils. "My God…"

As if realizing the game was over, Dr. Robbins flew into a rage and began to crash the test tubes and burn the files.

"No!" Luis yelled, and he fired a shot into Dr. Robbins back.

Catherine screamed.

Grissom stumbled backwards.

But Dr. Robbins fell still, leaning against the table, his head hung low, his back still heaving up and down. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Luis with red eyes and cracked a smile. "You can put bullets in a corpse, Mr. Sera, but that won't stop us."

Luis's eyes narrowed. "We were so _close_! You bastard!"

He took aim with his gun and narrowed his eyes before firing six rounds into Dr. Robbins' chest. He jolted a few times and then began making his way towards them, manipulating his lame legs in a way he could never have done two months ago. He was covered in his own blood and yet he continued to stumble towards them, until a tentacled creature, sensing that its host was about to be destroyed, began to crawl out of Dr. Robbins mouth.

It was hideously slithering out of their friend's body with a disgusting slurping sound, waving its sharp tentacles madly and lashing at Luis, who swiftly took aim and shot the parasite itself, where it fell from Dr. Robbins' mouth and let out a cruel warped version of a shrill scream. It writhed for a few minutes longer before it fell still.

Dr. Robbins corpse lay still on the floor with seven bullet wounds in his chest, his jaw disloacated, and his eyes wide open and glassily frosted as though the tears he was going to shed were frozen before they could fall.

Catherine's hands were still covering her mouth and nose. "I think I'm going to be sick—" she managed before dashing out into the hall. Luis and Grissom both listened to her wretch as they stared at Dr. Robbins' cold body, and the remains of the parasite that had taken his life.

"Dear god…" Grissom breathed, slowly approaching his old, dear friend and kneeling reverently by his side. His stomach lurched as well, and for a moment he wondered if he would be joining Catherine out in the hall, but he had always been able to control his nausea. He pursed his lips and slowly breathed in the rancid, stale air of the apartment. He reached down and closed Dr. Robbins' eyes and even tried to move his jaw back into a reasonable position. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. The latent Catholic in him wouldn't have it any other way.

Somewhere, Catherine had stopped vomiting, but he could still hear Luis checking his gun and putting it away. The Spaniard walked over to the table Dr. Robbins had wrecked and examined the carnage.

"Damn…" he breathed. "A few more weeks and we might have had it. In time to save your friends, as well. _Dammit_!" He tipped the table over in his rage.

But Grissom didn't care about that at that moment. All Grissom cared about was Dr. Albert Robbins, his friend and colleague for so many countless years. He was dead. And as much as he would have liked to blame his death on Luis Sera, the man who had shot him in the chest seven times, Grissom knew very well what really killed his friend. And its cousins had infected Sara and Nick.

No.

_No._

He refused to let them suffer the same fate. He had already lost one friend. He wasn't about to lose another. He was responsible for what happened to Sara and Nick. He would fix it. He had to, or die trying. He wouldn't settle for anything less. He wouldn't let them turn into… _that_.

He looked over at the corpse of the parasite, which was on its back, its tentacles laid out on the floor, its six tiny legs curling inward like a dead insect.

_That_ was what was inside Nick and Sara. It would control them. It would eat them alive. And then, Luis would have to kill them, too. Or worse. Grissom might have to kill them.

He knew the word 'kill' was a misnomer, because he wouldn't be killing Nick and Sara, he would only be desecrating their corpses. But in Grissom's mind, the two crimes were equal in sacrilege. He refused to let it go that far.

"What do we do now?" His voice was barely steady. He swallowed the lump that had taken up residence in his throat.

"We…" But Luis sighed. "I don't know. I don't have all the answers. I am sorry."

Grissom heard footsteps and looked at the door, where he saw a pale Catherine wiping her mouth. When she caught sight of Dr. Robbins, she looked sharply away.

"Let's go back to the lab," she suggested, her voice shaking. "I can't… I can't _think_ in this place. We'll figure out something there. Talk to Warrick and Greg, see how Nick and Sara are doing…"

Grissom slowly rose to his feet and looked down at his old friend. "What do we do about Al?"

"We'll call Brass," Catherine replied quietly. "Have him take care of it."

"How do we explain it?" Grissom asked.

She shrugged, then quickly grew irritated. "Jesus, Grissom, I don't _know_, alright? If _you_ don't know, then how the fuck should I?!"

Grissom smiled as he slowly walked over to her and, very unexpectedly, wrapped his arms around her as she took in deep, shuddering breaths, trying not to hyperventilate.

"It's OK, Catherine," he said.

She laughed, mockingly. "You are such a liar, Gil Grissom!"

He held her tighter, gritting his teeth in determination. "We'll find a way to fix this," he said. "We always do."

* * *

Warrick watched Greg, who watched Nick, who was staring through the glass at Sara as she slept quietly in her bed, tossing and turning every so often, and tensing her muscles as she fought the disease.

Nick knew that he was looking into his future, and it scared him more than he cared to admit to his friends who watched him.

Greg felt like he needed to do something to reassure Nick, to help Sara, but his mind drew a blank as to what. He didn't know what to say, or what to do.

Warrick was hoping for any sign of Greg's trademark humor to surface, like a hunter waiting for its prey to fall into a trap. The sooner Greg cracked a joke, the sooner the tension in the air would dissipate and they could all be themselves again.

But Greg remained silent, just as Nick remained silent, and the only sounds at all were the soft groans from Sara that were loud enough to seep past the glass barrier between them.

And Warrick was tired of waiting.

He rose to his feet and walked over to his friend by the window, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Nick didn't respond. His arms remained folded across his chest and his gaze remained locked on Sara. Every spasm of pain she experienced was like a jolt to his own system. Three days from now, he would be in her position.

"I wish we could go in and sit with her," Greg said at last. His hand touched the window. "Hold her hand, maybe… Try and make her feel better…" He looked up at Nick. "At least let her know that she's not alone."

"The doctors don't want to take any chances," Warrick explained. "Not with a disease they don' t know how to fix."

"It's blood-born, so long as she doesn't bleed on you, it's safe," Nick snapped bitterly. "Doctors don't know shit."

Greg and Warrick both looked at Nick who didn't even register their stares. He knew what they were thinking.

He sighed. "If it's so dangerous, they should have stuck me in there with her."

Warrick was getting upset. "Look, Nick, we don't _know_ if you really—"

"_Grissom_ knows," Nick interrupted loudly. "Luis Sera _knows_. I don't need to wait for the results of the test, I _know_…" He began to shiver and rubbed his arms as his voice shook. "I know…"

He stood there a moment with Greg and Warrick watching him before he abruptly turned on his heal and headed into the quarantine room. Greg and Warrick were on their feet, watching in mild anxiety as their friend went into the room without a suit and pulled up a chair by Sara's bed.

He slipped his hand in hers and squeezed it. She moaned and turned to him, her eyes fluttering open and she smiled.

"Hey, Nicky." Her voice was dry and raspy and it reached inside of him and chased the darkness away.

He reached out and pushed the hair away from her face. "Hey, darlin'," he said quietly, reverently, as if he was addressing an angel. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," she replied. "You?"

He forced a smile. "I'll be OK."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Heard a nasty rumor about you."

"Don't believe a word of it," he told her.

"Dunno…" She coughed, but there was no blood. "What are you doing in here?"

"I wanted to be with you," he replied.

"Then why aren't Greg and Warrick running in after you?" Sara nodded at the window where Warrick and Greg seemed to be arguing.

Nick smiled. "I think maybe they're scared," he replied.

"Liar."

"Why am I lying?" Nick asked, feigning offense.

"You're sick too, aren't you?" Sara asked, her eyes wide. "This is a quarantine room. I'm not stupid. I know you're not supposed to be in here."

He couldn't lie to her, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yeah… Yeah, I'm sick."

She pulled her hand out of his grip and rolled over in her bed, drawing the covers more tightly around her. "Go away."

He was confused. "Sara—"

"You're torturing yourself by being here," Sara interrupted. "Reminding yourself constantly about what's going to happen to you." She looked at him over her shoulder. "I don't want you to do that to yourself. Go out. Have fun. Be normal." She turned away from him again and closed her eyes.

"It's not normal without you," he whispered.

He heard her shift in the bed, but she didn't turn to look at him again. "Please go."

"Look, Sara…" Nick began. "If I have three days, I'm not gonna have any fun knowing you're here going through hell."

She turned to him and he saw tears trailing down her flushed cheeks as she shook her head. "I'm scared, Nick," she choked. "I've seen those bodies and I—"

"Sh, sh, sh!" Nick hushed instantly, stroking her hair and smiling to fight his own tears. He took her hand again "You're not alone."

"That makes it worse, not better…" Sara breathed. "I don't want you to—"

"Stop talking," Nick begged, his stomach twisting. "Please, I don't want… to talk about this."

She nodded and smiled up at him, but then a spasm of pain shot through her body and she began coughing again. Nick's grip on her hand tightened as the blood stained her sheets.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" someone from behind him demand. "Get out! Now!"

Nick stumbled backwards and in the process let go of Sara's hand as she continued to cough and doctors in quarantine suits swarmed in on her.

"Nick!" she choked.

"I'm here!" he called back to her.

"Someone get him the hell out of here?" one of the doctors snapped and someone made their way towards Nick.

"I'm infected already," he told them. "Please, just let me stay with her."

But the doctor shrugged. "I'm sorry. Let's go."

"It's a blood-born illness!" Nick cried. "There's really no need for those stupid suits!"

"We need to help her, and we can't do that with you in here. Wait for us outside, we'll have a doctor check you out to make sure you're not infected."

"I _am_ infected!" Nick returned. "I came in contact with her blood hours ago. You going to quarantine me, too?"

"For now, yes," said the doctor. "Until we figure out what it is."

"You guys are a bunch of morons!" Nick exclaimed, making for the exit and slamming the door.

He seemed to interrupt Warrick and Greg's argument. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Warrick demanded suddenly.

"What's the worst that can happen, I get infected _twice_?" Nick returned. "She's sick, I'm sick, there's no point in pretending!"

"Nick, there's a possibility—"

"Oh just leave him alone!" Greg burst out, and suddenly Nick knew what they had been arguing about. "At least _he_ can do what the rest of us can't! At least he's doing _something_!"

"We're _all_ trying to do what we can to help Sara," a cold level voice broke in.

The three men turned to see Grissom and a very shaken looking Catherine standing there watching them. Luis Sera was approaching the window and said nothing.

"What did you find at Doc Robbins' place?" Warrick asked quietly.

Catherine looked sharply away from them and began to walk back down the hall until she pushed the doors open and went outside. Grissom watched her go silently, then turned back to the others. "Not much," he told them. "His research was destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Greg repeated, aghast.

"Did he say anything?" Nick asked. "An explanation, observation… anything?"

"He's dead, Nick."

There wasn't a sound after Grissom spoke.

Until Luis explained. "I had to shoot him," he said.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?!" Nick exclaimed, making a move to launch himself at Luis.

"You don't understand…" Luis sighed. He turned and looked at Nick with sad eyes. "I am _sorry_ that you lost your friend. I've lost friends to this parasite too. You _can't_ understand unless you've seen it. What was inside him, it's evil. And there was no turning back, not once the Plaga reaches its final adult stage. Dr. Robbins was dead long before we got there."

Nick looked pale. Warrick put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, man," he said. "You look like you need to sit down." Warrick guided Nick to a nearby chair and the Texan buried his face in his hands.

"So now what?" Greg asked desperately. "Now what do we do?"

"I am not sure…" Luis said, hanging his head. "Starting from scratch, I don't know how long that could take. I at least had my plans with Dr. Robbins, but now… that was our last hope.

"Not our _last_ hope…" Greg said slowly.

"What do you mean, Greg?" Grissom asked, with disguised intrigue.

Greg's eyes darted to Luis, and even Nick and Warrick looked up at him.

Luis seemed to have caught on, though. His eyes were on Sara, who was lashing out violently at the doctors, who had to restrain her. "I told you, that's not possible."

"It _is_, you just aren't trying hard enough!" Greg roared, shocking everyone. "Come on, you can't just _give up _because—"

"I am _not_ just giving up!" Luis growled, turning on Greg like a sworn enemy. "If you had been there, if you had seen the things they do, you'd know, you'd _know_…" He sighed. "This isn't a criminal you are hunting down. It's a very, _very_ clever bug, and believe me when I tell you that being infected by one of them isn't the only thing you have to fear. I have seen men sliced in half by chainsaws. I have seen them mauled, torn limb from limb and turned into food for the dogs, which, coincidentally, are also infected." He gave a snide smile. "You may be altruistic now, Greg Sanders, but I promise you that once you descend into Hell, you come out of it with scars that don't heal."

Greg was gritting his teeth, and his hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. "OK. You don't want to go back. That's obvious. I don't care. With or without you, I'm getting the vaccine. It would probably be easier with your help. But obviously you're too much of a coward to… what?"

Luis was laughing, slowly and low as he shook his head and looked at Greg condescendingly. "Cowards don't survive that place. And if you think you can goad me into accompanying you, you are wrong. It's not just dangerous. It's a suicide mission."

"What are you two arguing about?" Warrick asked, walking towards them.

But Grissom seemed to have figured it out. "Your work…" he began. "In Spain."

Luis sighed. "Yes," he said. "But it was stolen from me. I couldn't get it back, but I tried. I had to get out of there, before I got myself killed."

"Who stole it from you?" Greg asked.

Luis scoffed. "A man named Osmund Saddler. Their… queen." He said the word as though it was almost amusing to him. "The Las Plagas were his children… so to speak. Nearly got speared right through the chest for it, too." He looked at Grissom. "I was saved by an American," he said. "Thought I'd return the favor to the United States."

Greg turned to Grissom. "We have to go!"

"No," Grissom said firmly.

Greg's face fell. "Grissom, if we don't go, no one else will. The mayor is denying it, remember? Everyone's pretending like this isn't happening. I'm tired of pretending. I need to _do_ something."

"I'll go with him," Warrick volunteered. He looked at Greg. "I'll watch his back."

"And if either of you were going, I have no doubt that would be true," Grissom said. "But the fact of the matter is, I am not going to let _any_ of you dive head first into a swarm of folks infected with Las Plagas."

Greg and Warrick both looked about to protest when they heard the screeching of a chair on linoleum. They all turned around to see Nick with their back to them, leaning against the wall. His back muscles were tensed and his shoulders were hunched forward.

"Nick…?" Grissom said slowly, approaching him. The Texan didn't answer. As Grissom got closer, he noticed Nick was shaking, and his arms were wrapped tightly around his stomach. He let out a grunt as he fell to his knees and hung his head, doubling over in pain. His face was drenched in sweat, his teeth clenched.

Grissom looked desperately at Luis. "What's happening to him? This is impossible, he was only exposed less than twenty-four hours ago!"

Luis looked equally surprised and he frowned, approaching the man to examine him, but one of Nick's arms shot out in a gesture telling him to stop.

"… Catch it…" Nick choked through gritted teeth. Greg and Warrick were confused, but Luis knew what he was saying.

"I've been infected before," Luis said calmly, quietly, shocking all of them. "And I've since been vaccinated." He knelt down next to Nick. "Let me look at you."

Nick didn't protest any further as Luis put his hand gently on Nick's back and tilted his head up. Nick was breathing heavily, his eyes closed, but Luis opened one of them. His irises flashed red. Luis's eyes narrowed. He looked up at the CSIs, desperately waiting for an update.

"Worker," he said. "And a strong one. The parasite is in his somewhere in his abdomen, but it's not nearly fully enough developed to take control, even if it reaches the brain stem in the next few days. We still have time."

"How much time?" Grissom asked.

Nick let out another cry of pain, but quickly stifled it, as if he didn't want the others to know what he was suffering through. Luis sympathetically began to rub his back. "Three weeks, maybe," he said. "They're evolving. Soon enough, they'll figure out how to take control in a matter of days."

Greg and Warrick looked at Grissom expectantly, waiting to be told what to do. Grissom watched Nick, his whole body tense as he tried to fight the radiating pain this parasite was causing him. He looked in at Sara, who had to be restrained by the doctors treating her and was tossing in a feverish delirium. He swallowed hard to open up his throat before announcing his decision in the form of a question addressed to Luis.

"How soon can you get me to Spain?"

* * *


	6. Catherine Mourns and Warrick is Wary

**_Author's Note:_** To those excited about the reference to a certain special agent in the last chapter, I believe this chapter will hold especially good news for you.

* * *

Chapter Five: In Which Catherine Mourns and Warrick Is Wary

Grissom walked outside the hospital doors to see Catherine leaning against the brick wall and watching the sunset. She was rubbing her arms, and her breath came out in a smoky fog in the crisp November air. Grissom moved to stand beside her.

"I can deal with serial killers," Catherine said suddenly. "I can deal with sickos who… torture and abuse people for no reason at all. I can deal with all the ugliness of humanity, and Nick and Sara have both suffered through and survived the ugliest of malicious deeds, but… To lose them to something like this, something inhuman, a bug…" She turned to Grissom. "I don't want what happened to Al to happen to them, Gil."

"It won't," Grissom assured her. "We're going to make sure of that."

"How?" Catherine asked. "How could you _possibly_ be sure that—"

"I'm going to Spain," Grissom explained, "with Luis. We're going to get the cure from his lab there."

"Well why didn't we do that before?" Catherine asked.

"Too many reasons," Grissom said vaguely.

Catherine accepted this and licked her lips before nodding. "I have to go," she said.

"Where?" Grissom asked.

"There's something I just have to do," she replied, as mysterious as Grissom ever was.

He smiled at the thought. "Goodbye, Catherine."

"You sound like you'll never see me again," she said.

"Precautionary measure," he explained. "In case I don't."

She returned the smile, but in a more bemused way. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "Well, then… Goodbye… Gil. I'll see you when you get back from Spain."

She began to walk away from him towards the parking lot, her hands deep in her coat pockets. He wondered if this would be the last sight he would have of her. She had no idea what he was going to do. He was sure if she had known, she would have protested, just as he had initially protested. But seeing Nick like that had deeply disturbed him, and one last look at Sara's pale face had made the decision for him. He refused to let any of his team follow him, though. He had already risked enough members of his staff. He wouldn't expose anyone else.

He heard the doors open again and saw Luis stroll out into the twilight with an exhausted sigh. He looked at Grissom and tried to give him a reassuring smile. He failed miserably.

"I've contacted an old friend of mine in the secret service. He said he can have a plane ready for us within the next two hours."

"It's still not soon enough," Grissom muttered. "The sooner we can get in and get out, the better."

Luis nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets. "He's insisted on coming with us."

"Who?" Grissom asked.

"My friend," Luis clarified. "Frankly, I think it's a good idea. He's been there before, he knows how it works. And he's much better with a shotgun than I am."

"Fine," Grissom said dismissively. "Whatever. Secret service? I mean… Yeah, that sounds good." He turned to look and frown at Luis. "We'll be shooting people."

"We'll be shooting corpses," Luis clarified, shaking his head. "They're beyond help. It's the only way."

"We'll be defiling the corpses of human beings…" Grissom shook his head. "I should be the last one worried about the morals of this situation, but… Watching you shoot Al… It was as if you were killing him yourself. Even if I know you weren't."

Luis changed the subject. "There's someone else who insists on coming."

"Another agent?" Grissom asked disinterestedly. "I don't want the whole army going in with us—"

"Greg Sanders won't leave me alone about it," Luis said. "So I told him he could come."

"That's not your place," Grissom said.

"It's my expedition," Luis replied.

"Who decided that?"

"I did," Luis said simply, then smirked.

Grissom was quiet a moment. "Greg isn't coming."

"Then _you_ try and tell him that," said Luis. "Believe me, he won't take no for an answer."

"He's a lot like a child sometimes," Grissom said.

"That sounds patronizing," Luis pointed out casually.

"Far from it, actually I often envy him for it," Grissom said. "He was a prodigy as a child. But as a result, he never really grew up. Although sometimes it can be a very irksome quality." He looked at Luis. "He's still not coming."

"You should go home, get some things together," Luis advised, changing the subject. "I'll gather some supplies and meet you at McCarren airport in two hours."

He began to leave when Grissom called after him. "How's Nick?"

Luis stopped, then turned to look at Grissom. "The doctors have put him in isolation, with the girl. She's sleeping fairly soundly now. It seems her fever has subsided. He's still experiencing muscle pains. The doctors are trying to make them comfortable. But they can only treat the symptoms, not the source. That's our job."

"How long do you think this is going to take?" Grissom asked.

Luis shrugged. "Could take anywhere between a few days and a few weeks. It depends on how many Ganados are still lurking about and get in our way. And if Saddler will have anything to say about it."

"We don't have a few weeks," Grissom said. "My people are dying _now_."

"Then let's aim for _days_, shall we?" Luis said, mildly sardonic. "I'll meet you in two hours?"

Grissom agreed and they both headed off.

* * *

Catherine stood silently on the porch as she listened to the crickets chirping, hidden in the bushes. She noticed a nearby tree house with a broken ladder and smiled. There was a nearby hammock on the porch that she seriously considered reclining in to rest her weary joints. The porch light was on, illuminating the gnats and moths that were attracted to it. She stared at the screen door, her mind doing somersaults to try and figure out exactly what she was going to say. It was important that she was as direct as possible. Although Catherine had never formerly met the woman she was about to speak with, Catherine imagined that she was the type of woman who wouldn't appreciate anyone skirting an issue to spare feelings. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the front door opened, and Catherine was looking at a pleasantly confused woman through the screen door. She looked exhausted and had some lines by her eyes as her years began to catch up with her. The pigment in her hair was faded slightly, but was a soft, oak brown with tufts of grayish hair by her ears which she tried to keep hidden by wearing her hair down.

She spoke in honey-sweet tones. "Can I help you?"

Catherine tried to smile and found the task exceedingly difficult. "My name is Catherine Willows from the crime lab. I work with your husband?" She phrased it as a question, even though it was a fact.

Mrs. Robbins beamed. "Right, right, right, I think I've heard him mention you! Well don't stand out there, come in, we were just about to settle down for some mud pudding. With Al gone all the time, it's the only thing that'll stop the kids complaining."

Catherine's heart lurched. "Actually, I can't stay. I just came here to tell you something. Mrs. Robbins, I'm… afraid I have some bad news."

Mrs. Robbins frowned curiously and stepped out onto the porch with Catherine before closing the door behind her. "What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong? Is it Al?"

Catherine opened her mouth then bit her lip and shook her head. "I'm sorry…" she said, a small break in her voice on the word 'sorry.' "I don't know if you know this or not but your husband has been very sick for the past six weeks… He passed away this morning."

Mrs. Robbins was stoic, and wavered only slightly as her hands clutched at the door. "I… Thank you, Ms. Willows…"

"He did so incredibly well!" Catherine said desperately, as if any of her words could bring solace to a grieving wife. "You would have been so proud of him! It's this disease, it's infecting Vegas, and he did everything in his power to stop it. He was so brave, Mrs. Robbins!"

"I don't care if he was _brave_…" Mrs. Robbins said, her voice a vibrato of contained grief. "I just wanted him to come _home_ eventually…."

Her whole body was shaking now and Catherine didn't know what to do. "You didn't know…" she whispered.

"Of course I didn't _know_!" Mrs. Robbins shrieked. "Al said he had to go away for a while, research, for the lab, work, he said he needed it. He looked a little pale, but I just thought he was overworked. I tried to kiss him goodbye but he wouldn't even let me do that…"

"He was contagious in his first week…" Catherine whispered. "And he wasn't sure by then what it was, or how it was spread. He probably didn't want to risk you or the kids." The hard part for Catherine to know was that, even if he hadn't known it at the time, Dr. Robbins probably could have shared one last kiss with his wife without passing the parasite on. "I'm absolutely sure he loved you… _very_ much."

Mrs. Robbins closed her eyes tightly as if wishing this was all just a dream. He knees buckled beneath her and she fell onto the porch. She wrapped her arms tightly around her and doubled over into a fetal position. She was trembling, but not a single tear yet escaped her eye. Catherine knelt down in front of her and pushed a strand behind her ear.

"Don't touch me…" she whispered, her eyes still closed as she refused to even look up at Catherine. "You knew he was sick… you knew…"

"I only found out this morning, I swear it," Catherine assured her.

"Go away…" Mrs. Robbins murmured. "Please, just leave me be… I have to tell the children that their father is dead."

With great effort, as if she weighed ten times what she actually did, Catherine slowly and painfully rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving the crippled form of the coroner's wife. She pulled out a card. "If you need someone to talk to…" She held it down to the woman, but Mrs. Robbins didn't even make a move to show she had heard the CSI at all and Catherine sighed. She turned around and walked down the steps of the porch. She walked through the lawn, upon which sat a half-deflated basketball and a water gun that was growing mold on the barrel. She looked up at the tree house one last time and finally saw how decrepit and dangerous the thing looked, almost sinister in the silver light of the stars. But there was a worn, familiar look to it too, like an old home or apple pie that filled Catherine with nostalgia. She looked up at the stars and listened to the crickets singing around her, life continuing onward as usual. The stars blinked down at her, unusually bright this evening, dancing in front of her vision and Catherine imagined they were almost singing to her, in inaudible melodies that were so low, it vibrated in her bones, and in the very core of her being.

Or maybe that was just the sobs that were seizing her stomach with spasms.

She made for the edge of the property as quickly and silently as she could and hesitated at the mailbox, where she slipped her card through the crack. She looked back at the porch and regretted it immediately. The soft, orange glow from the porch light illuminated a frail, quaking body, bent over like an old beggar. Catherine heard the quiet gasps of her breathing even above the chorus of the crickets around her. She let out another sob before her fingers flew to her mouth as if to contain them before she darted for her car and opened the door as quickly as possible. Safely in the confines of her own, secure surroundings, Catherine wept in earnest, as loudly as she could.

* * *

Greg and Warrick stood side by side as they looked in at their sleeping companions. Neither one of them had said a word since Luis had left. 

"You still wanna go?" Warrick asked suddenly.

"Don't you?!" Greg returned. "Don't you want to help them?"

Warrick knew that Luis had one thing right about Greg, and that was that Greg was an altruist through and through. It was a quality that sometimes blinded him to the reality of things. He often was unaware of exactly what he would be risking for the greater good. But he also never gave up. Warrick had lost his optimism years ago. "I think I want to stay here," he said.

Greg was obviously confused. "But you said…"

"I know," Warrick sighed. "But Grissom's right, Greg. What he's doing? It's a long shot at best. And you don't even know if you're going to come back at all, let alone with a cure."

"So the odds are against us," Greg said, rolling his eyes. "People beat the odds all the time. I hate odds. They don't mean anything."

"Grissom's not going to let us go anyway," Warrick said, his eyes on Nick. "And to be honest, I'd much rather stay here and… spend time with them."

"You've already given up, haven't you?" Greg asked, sounding almost ashamed.

But he was wrong. Warrick hadn't given up. He was just preparing for the worst. "If you do come back with the cure, then that's great," he said. "But while you're gone, they're gonna wonder where you went. They're gonna need someone here." He looked up at Greg. "I'm surprised you don't want to be the one Sara wakes up to."

Greg rubbed his arms, as if a sudden chill had run down his spine and he looked away from Warrick. "It's not that I don't want to be there for them, it's just that… I don't want to just stand here and watch them die." He sighed. "Look, I know it's dangerous. I know I must be crazy to wanting to jump into this, risking myself, and all that, and really, I get why Grissom doesn't want me to go but… I have to do_something_. And it's not like I'll be alone. Grissom and Luis will be there, right? Plus that guy he called in. The secret service guy. We're a team. The more they have, the more likely they are to succeed. Right?"

Warrick pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't know, Greg… but if you want to go, and I mean really want to go, you'll have to dodge Grissom."

"Maybe literally…" Greg thought aloud. "Listen, Warrick, I gotta go. You should go home too, get some sleep, you look exhausted."

It was true. Warrick felt as if he could pass out at any minute. And as Greg skipped off down the hall, Warrick looked back at Sara and Nick. He could come back first thing in the morning. It had been one hell of a long day.

He looked up again and saw Greg disappearing behind the doors of the hospital. Greg and Grissom off to battle zombies in Spain. Sara and Nick fighting for their lives here in Las Vegas. And Catherine… he had no idea where Catherine was.

And Warrick had the gripping premonition that he was on the cusp of losing every last one of them.

* * *


	7. Nick and Sara Go Exploring

**_Author's Note:_** No comment.

* * *

Chapter Six: In Which Nick and Sara Go Exploring  


The room was dark, even after Nick had lifted his heavy eyelids, his body lethargic with sleep. But he was no longer in any pain. In fact, he felt perfectly healthy, minus the sluggishness. He was lying on the stiff hospital bed, the smell of ammonia assaulting his senses. Of course he knew why he was there. They must have given him a sedative to stop his muscle spasms.

He heard light breathing in the room telling him that he wasn't alone. He rolled onto his back and looked to his left to see a still figure resting in the bed, her back to him. He smiled.

"Are you awake?" he whispered.

"Unfortunately," she replied. She shifted in the bed so she was facing him and in the dim light of the room she gave him a soft smile. "What's up?"

"Does it hurt?"

Her smile faded, and she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Not right now."

"Me too," he said.

"I don't like that there's this thing growing inside of me…" Sara whispered.

Nick propped himself up on his elbow. "Let's get out of here," he said suddenly.

She looked at him as if he had just confessed he was an alien. "Are you crazy?"

"How do you feel?" Nick asked.

"Fine right now, but that doesn't mean—"

"Then let's get out of here!" Nick was already swinging his legs over the bed. "There's a fair in town, we passed it on our way here. You wanna go to a fair?"

She was shaking her head in bafflement. "Nick, I don't know…"

But he was excited now. The adrenaline was washing through his veins and he leapt out of bed with the dopiest grin on his face it made Sara snort. "Come on!" he said in an exuberant whisper. "We'll take some anti-pyrogen medication, a few things for seizures, some pain killers, hell, I'll be a walking medicine cabinet, let's just _go_! You're the one who was saying we needed to get out, appreciate being normal while we still can!"

"Nick, what if something happens?" she asked. "What if I collapse, or you do, and—"

"If worse comes to worst, I'll just take you back here myself as soon as I can. Hell, I did it before."

"And what if the _both_ of us are incapacitated?" Sara pointed out. "Nick, this is stupid."

"This is _living_, Sara!" Nick exclaimed. "This is seizing the bull by the horns! Come on, the fair is just about a few blocks away from here, I promise we won't go far!"

She took a deep breath and looked at the door, then looked at Nick and smiled. "OK," she said.

* * *

Grissom looked up at the stars blinking down at him and wished for simplicity again. The minute he set foot on this plane, there was no guarantee he would ever come to Las Vegas again. But his team meant everything to him, and if he let them die when there was something he could have done, he would never be able to live with himself. So he pushed all his second thoughts to the back of his mind, took a deep breath, and entered the plane. 

He didn't have to walk far before fury replaced his anxieties. He gritted his teeth and his eyes did not leave the subject of his wrath.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Greg Sanders reclined in the seat of the private jet and yawned. "Good evening to you too."

"Get off the plane, Greg," Grissom growled.

"I'm sorry, Grissom," Greg said, not sounding sorry at all. "But I'm afraid right now, you're not my boss."

"I'm not," Grissom intoned flatly.

"See, I've been hired by Luis Sera as a specialist," Greg explained. "I'm in _his_ employ now."

"Specialist of _what_?!" Grissom spat.

"We didn't really sort out the details…" Greg shrugged. "Sit down, Grissom. It's going to be a long flight."

"Where's Luis?" Grissom demanded.

"I think he's in the cockpit with the pilot," Greg said. Grissom headed in that direction. "But we have a contract! He can't renege on that!" Greg called after him.

Grissom pounded on the door to the cockpit until it opened and he was greeted by an amused looking Spaniard. "Why so loud, Dr. Grissom?"

"I told you, Greg can't come," Grissom said in a low voice.

"Aw, I'm sorry," Luis said, but like Greg he didn't sound sorry at all. "He told me that you said he could come. Dammit, that's the oldest trick in the book. Oh well, too late now." Luis tried to close the door to the cockpit on Grissom, but Grissom stuck his foot in the door.

"He's just a kid, Luis," Grissom said seriously. "I don't want to involve him in all of this."

"He's over eighteen, isn't he?" Luis asked. "I believe that's the age of consent in this country, is it not? I think he can make his own decisions."

"Greg doesn't understand what he's getting himself into," Grissom explained. "He hasn't seen…" Grissom swallowed. "He hasn't seen what this thing does to people. He's too…"

"Naïve?" Luis supplied. "Oh, I agree. Which is why I think this is a good thing for him."

"You're signing his death certificate," Grissom said, sounding as if the words were a knife to his own heart.  
Luis smiled and sighed. "Mr. Grissom, let me tell you a story of two soldiers. One was a veteran. He was the best trained soldier you could want. The other was a young recruit, with ideals about fighting for his country and conquering evil. The former knew better. He saw the world for what it was while his friend saw the world for how he wanted it to be. But when they were in the foxholes and they were cornered, and mustard gas was thrown in to smoke them out, the veteran swore they were doomed. It was the recruit who figured out that their helmets could be used like emergency gas masks. It was the recruit that found the way out. And after the war, Mr. Grissom… The recruit turned into the veteran. Bitter and cynical. But the veteran was forever changed by the young recruit's determination to never give up."

"Is this some Spanish fable?" Grissom asked.

Luis grinned. "Nah. Just made it up. But pretty good, no?" Grissom was not amused and it was apparent to Luis. "OK, look, how about you meet our pilot?" he put his arm around Grissom's shoulders, who didn't seem to enjoy it and led him into the cockpit to reveal a burly, sandy-haired man who was watching him with a smile.

"Dr. Grissom?" he said. "My name is Leon Scott-Kennedy. I'm your pilot for this evening. I'm sure we're going to be swell friends."

* * *

Sara Sidle could not stop staring up at the sky. In all her life, she had never seen it look so beautiful. She swore that it had somehow become bluer since she had been hospitalized, as the cotton-candy clouds floated lazily on by. 

Someone tugged at her arm and she was pulled back to earth by an eagerly grinning Texan. "Well? Come on! What do you want to do first?"

Breathless, Sara could do nothing but take in her surroundings. It was dirty and loud and raucous but it was the most exciting thing she had ever seen. "How did we even get here?" she asked, and then turned on her partner in crime and hit him in the chest. "You bastard, I should have never let you convince me to sneak out of that hospital!"

"Don't tell me you're regretting it already!" Nick laughed. "At least I found our clothes. Do you know how much we'd stick out here in hospital gowns?"

She rolled her eyes and turned around. "We should go back," she said, but he caught her by the arm and spun her back in the other direction again.

"Oh no you don't," he said. "I saw you staring at that sky. You love the freedom as much as I do. So now that we're here, we might as well make the best of it, right? So what do you want to do?"

Sara took a deep breath and looked up at the sky before a smile slowly overtook her features. "Cotton candy," she said, as chipper as a child.

He was so thrilled by her answer that he pulled her into a bear hug and spun her around. "That's what I like to hear!"

So they went to the first cotton candy vendor and bought one blue one and one pink one. Every step Sara took, she was in a daze as she let Nick pull her around. She felt no pain, and she was a little wary about that. Was it the pain killers? Was the creature inside her simply taking a coffee break? Or—did she dare to hope—had her body somehow fought off the intruder? Indeed, she was feeling healthier than ever. She decided to ask Nick how he was feeling.

"Like a million bucks," he replied as he tossed a baseball into the air and nodded at a stack of jugs. "Care to give it a shot? I'll bet you have some arm."

"Do you think this could be a symptom?" Sara asked. "Your newfound wildness? This… level of intensity, I don't think I've seen it in you before."

"Parasites equal pain," Nick said, taking aim very carefully at the stack of jars. "No pain, no parasites." He wound up his arm and knocked down every last jar, as well as making a good dent in the wood behind it, which worried Sara slightly. "If we're feeling good now we might as well take advantage of it."

The fair worker handed Nick a stuffed bear, which he promptly turned around and offered to Sara with a grin on his face.

Sara blinked at him blankly. And then, her stomach began to rumble and she wrapped her arms around herself. "Jesus, I'm _starving_," she said. "Let's get something to eat."

"Cotton candy didn't make you sick to your stomach?" Nick asked, cocking his eyebrow. "That stuff always gets to me. Wanna go on a ride or something first, before you throw up?"

She smiled and followed his gaze to a rollercoaster that stood behind her. Her lips puckering in a pensive pout, she nodded. And he took her arm and like a gentleman escorted her to the line.

* * *

A ringing cell phone jolted Warrick from his slumber. He groped for it on his bedside table before he finally found it. 

"Brown," he yawned into the phone, scratching his head.

"Where the hell are they?" a frantic Catherine demanded of him. "Are they with you?"

"Whoa, rewind," Warrick said. "I feel like I jumped into the middle of the movie here. What are you talking about?"

She was worse than frazzled. Her voice sounded like a frayed carpet that was swiftly unraveling. "Sara and Nick. They're missing. Warrick!"

"What?" He sat up so fast in bed he got a head rush.

"The doctors weren't watching them, it's a hospital not a prison! They don't know where they went! The doctors didn't even know they were strong enough _to_ go anywhere!"

"Calm down, Catherine, they couldn't have gotten far," Warrick reasoned, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Where are you right now?"

"The hospital," Catherine replied. "Yelling at the incompetent doctors. No _wonder_ Mercy has been losing money! Warrick…" She was panting. "Warrick, I think I'm having a panic attack."

Warrick closed his eyes, his head throbbing dully. He knew it was the beginning of a long day. "OK, Catherine, just… Take deep breaths and hold out until I get there."

When she spoke again, she sounded small and lost, completely unlike the strong, confident woman Warrick knew so well, and that scared him almost more than knowing that Sara and Nick were missing. "Warrick, what do I do? Where did they go?"

He rose to his feet and walked to the window where he looked up at the clear blue sky with scattered clouds. "They aren't that sick yet," he said, sounding calmer than he felt. "We'll find them and they'll be OK."

Her next words were so quiet, he barely made them out. "I really need you here right now, Warrick."

He smiled against his will. "What?"

She coughed and explained. "I mean, Greg and Grissom are gone, and if Gil finds out that I let Nick and Sara slip through my fingers, I swear I'm blaming the whole thing on you."

There was the woman he knew. He smirked. "I'll be right over. I promise."

* * *

Grissom didn't speak to Greg for the entire flight, no matter how Greg tried to goad him into partaking in a conversation. Often, Grissom either was, or pretended to be asleep. Luis would sporadically enter the cabin to check on them, but he spent most of his time in the cockpit with the secret agent Greg barely knew. 

As the sun rose over the Atlantic, he stared down through the clouds at the water beneath them and for the first time really questioned what it was they were flying into. He was scared, though his pride kept him from admitting it even to himself. Grissom thought that Greg didn't understand the task he was taking on, but Greg knew. Luis had described it vividly enough. The thing was, Greg had convinced himself that he didn't care about any of it. Zombie dogs and chainsaws didn't matter a lick to him if Sara and Nick died. If they died, Greg would descend into hell itself to get them back. And from what Luis had told him, that was exactly what they were doing.

"Did you hear the one about the bear at the bar?" Greg asked conversationally to the quietly slumbering Grissom, who didn't reply. He sighed and tried another coarse of action. "This one time, when I was little I was outside climbing a tree…" Grissom still didn't stir. Greg sighed and looked out the window again. "Well, it was one of those rare occasions when my mother left me with a sitter. She didn't trust sitters, and rarely left me alone, but Nana Olaf was sick, and she needed to check on her, and I had school, so it was the only thing. Anyways, she was our neighbor, and nice enough. She let me play outside, for one. Mom never did unless she was watching every move I made…"

He looked over at Grissom again who hadn't moved. He looked down at his knees. "So anyway, I was climbing this tree," he continued. "And I was pretty high up. And my foot slipped on the branch, so I fell, all the way through the branches and foliage to the ground. I remember a loud crack and a scream and a shooting pain in my leg, but for a long time, I didn't move. I just lied there, flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me, staring up at the hole I had made in the tree and all I kept thinking was… That's it. I'd ruined Mom's best apple tree. I ripped a hole clear through the poor thing. But I smiled because I had never, ever felt the rush of adrenaline before, and I wasn't too sure what it meant. I was euphoric. I was even laughing when the sitter came and started panicking"

He stopped. There was a sound from Grissom by the window. When Greg looked over at him he was startled to see the older man's eyes were open. Greg was suddenly self-conscious and shifted under his elder's gaze.

"Needless to say, Mom never let me be babysat by her ever again. That summer, she had my dad cut down that apple tree. There was nothing left but a stump in our backyard. All I could do now was sit on it."

"Why did you tell me that story, Greg?" Grissom asked quietly.

The younger CSI shrugged. "I dunno. I was bored." He looked up and grinned at Grissom. "And besides, it got you talking to me."

Grissom rolled his eyes and turned away from Greg. "So is that why you're going to Spain, Greg? You're just defying your mother all over again? Searching for that rush of adrenaline?"

"No, it's not like that at all!" Greg assured him hastily. It was important to him that Grissom understood. The story he had told, it wasn't about him, it was about the tree. It was always about the tree. "I…" He shivered. "It's not about me. It's about Nick and Sara. Right?"

Grissom still didn't turn back to face him. And he didn't speak again for the whole trip.

* * *


	8. Sara and Nick Have A Fight

**_Author's Note:_** I've been writing another story that's snagged my attention. It was originally a one shot that turned into twenty-five pages and still isn't finished. After this chapter, this story will go on haitus until I get bitten by the writing bug again. I _promise_ it will be completed. However, in the meantime, I'll be posting my other story that I've been writing to entertain you during this story's intermission. I hope I don't get too many tomatoes thrown at me.

* * *

Chapter Seven: In Which Sara and Nick Have A Fight  


By the time they stumbled off their sixth rollercoaster like a couple of drunken fools, Sara and Nick were equally euphoric. She tugged him immediately in the direction of the food stalls, and with a few distractions (Nick just _had_ to play the majority of games they passed), they finally got there. It wasn't until Sara ordered a hamburger— cooked rare—that something in Nick's head clicked.

"Sara, you're a vegetarian," he pointed out slowly.

"Not today I'm not," she said with a grin as her hamburger was handed to her. She took a large bite out of it and Nick looked skeptically at his hotdog.

"Maybe we should head back to the hospital," he said, a pang beginning in his chest. "I think something's wrong… This isn't us."

She was eating her hamburger with a voracity that began to frighten him. She spoke with her mouth full. "Please, Nick, I haven't eaten like this in years and I'm _starving_!" She was already ordering another double cheeseburger.

And then, it was everything Nick could do not to fall to his knees in agony as a shrill, sharp whine invaded his ears and drilled a hole in his brain. Through his hazed vision, he saw Sara notice and reach out for him. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear what she was saying beyond the paralyzing siren in his head. She bit down on her cheeseburger and held it in her mouth as she fumbled around in his jacket pocket. She found a bottle of pills and shook it in front of his face as if asking if he wanted it.

Had it been any other situation, he might have laughed. Sara Sidle, with a quarter of a hamburger sticking out of her mouth, was playing charades with him and a pill bottle. But as it was, Nick couldn't appreciate the humor of the situation, and, not caring in the least what the pills were, he seized them and attacked the lid like a monkey trying to open a coconut on a rock.

The noise intensified and he dropped the bottle, his hands flying to his ears as he doubled over in pain. The next thing he knew, someone was shoving two pebbles into his mouth and pouring water down his throat. He choked and spluttered, and for a moment he felt his heart actually stop beating in his chest. He wondered fleetingly if these were his last moments, but the thought was so irrelevant to the pain that he would scarcely remember it when he would recall the situation later.

Soft, firm fingers were pressing against his temples, and strangely the noise rattling in his skull subsided. He blinked to see Sara— the hamburger still in her mouth, God bless her— straddling him, her features focused in intense concentration as her index and middle fingers moved in circles against his skull. It was only then that he realized he was laying flat on the ground, and a few people had stopped to look at him, but apparently they weren't that interesting because everyone else just kept on walking by. He blinked up at Sara as his eyes focused.

"What was that?" he asked her, breathless.

Her reply was muffled by the food in her mouth. She closed her eyes as if scolding herself and took the hamburger from her lips. "You tell me."

"What did you give me?" he asked her.

"Percocet," she replied. "Did it help?"

"I think your fingers helped better," he replied, his own hands flying to where her touch had been. "How'd you know to do that?"

She shrugged. "I think it was the Percocet," she said. She clambered off of him and rose to her feet, finishing off the hamburger as she held her hand out to him and helped him up.

"You seem fairly unfazed…" Nick said warily, rubbing the back of his head.

She leaned across the counter and snagged her double cheeseburger, unwrapping it with a lustful glint in her eye before practically swallowing it whole. "You're OK," she managed to say between bites. "Why should I worry?"

Nick didn't like this new apathy at all. "We should go," he said, wondering what it was that had assaulted his senses. "This was a bad idea. I… I don't know why I suggested it."

He took her by the arm but she glared at him fiercely. "I want to stay," she said sharply.

This wasn't like her at all. "Sara…"

"Nick, don't make me yell," she whispered, her voice a low rumble.

"Sara, you're scaring me," he said through gritted teeth.

Her eyes narrowed. "Let go of my arm, Nick," she articulated deliberately.

He hesitated before he made his decision. He shook his head. "Sara, we're done here—"

And then, there was that pain again, all the wind knocked out of his lungs as his skull crashed onto the ground and he was staring up at the cotton-candy clouds, his brain throbbing. But it wasn't the parasite that had caused his pain this time. At least, not directly.

Sara was standing over him with murderous eyes. She was licking the ketchup off of her finger, her double cheeseburger long gone and then launched herself at Nick and began to throttle him. He seized her wrists instinctually to try and stop her and then something primal took him over and with what felt like just a flick of the wrist to him, he heard a loud crack like a gunshot and Sara yelped in pain before relinquishing her grip in his neck and falling to the side, trembling. She was cradling her rapidly swelling wrist and breathing heavily.

There was a rising fury in Nick that he could not quell no matter how he tried, and every fiber in his body wanted to slaughter her there, in front of all those watching people. He wanted to dismember her and trail her bloody carcass across town tied to the bumper of his car. And for a moment, he was going to. He pulled his hand back, ready to come down as a devastating blow to her stomach which he would proceed to tear at until all her skin came off in his hands, and her insides were pouring onto the ground around him.

But just as he was about to bring his hand down, he heard her quiet sobbing and it jarred a familiar feeling in him, and warmth returned to his body.

They had garnered their own little audience by now, and no one was speaking as they stood there, waiting with morbid excitement to see what Nick would do next. A part of all of them wanted to see Nick kill her. But their consciences would never let them admit it to themselves.

As Nick returned to himself, he lowered his arm to Sara's shoulder and instead of attacking he pulled her up into a sitting position and gathered her in his arms and rested his forehead on top of her hair. People started clapping. Some of them were yelling for a kiss. Nick grit his teeth and clenched his fists behind Sara's back, resisting the urge to leap to his feet and mercilessly butcher every single one of them just to shut them up.

And then he realized the monster he was becoming.

"I want to go home," Sara whispered into his chest.

"I want to take you there," he replied, stroking her hair.

"What's going on here?" demanded a miffed looking security guard. He had obviously heard about the brawl and upon arrival was disappointed in what he found.

"Nothing," Nick said, rising to his feet and taking Sara with him. "We're just going to go home."

The security guard's eyes lingered on Sara's swollen wrist and his eyes narrowed. "I think maybe you and me should go have a little chat with the LVPD," he said.

Nick was perplexed, but Sara noticed the security guard watching him venomously and immediately understood.

"I'm fine," she assured him, though her voice was shaking and her tear-stained cheeks said otherwise. "Really, you don't understand, Nick, he— he's a sweetheart, we just—"

"Ma'am, you don't need to defend him," said the security guard to her, his voice soft and reassuring. "I know you love him, but—"

Sara couldn't help it. She scoffed, which earned her an almost offended look from Nick. She flushed and looked timidly at the ground before gathering the nerve to look up at the security guard again. "No, Nick and I aren't married, we're colleagues, and we… We need to get back to work," she said tactfully. "And anyone here will tell you, I attacked him." She looked around at the crowd as if for their approval and they all nodded and whispered amongst themselves.

The security guard was still wary. "I dunno, I heard he grabbed your arm—"

"Look…" she said, patting down her pockets. "I'm with the crime lab, I work with the LVPD…" Her frown deepened when she realized she didn't have her badge. She looked up at Nick, desperately, who took her cue and immediately searched his own pockets.

"Uh… I know it has to be here…" he said.

"Right." The security guard was even further from convinced than he'd been when he arrived. "You two are coming with me to the security office while we sort this out."

"I don't think that's a good idea…" Sara said slowly, watching Nick's hands clench and unclench into fists.

"I don't know, you two were disturbing the peace," the security guard said. "People were injured."

Nick was beginning to grit his teeth and Sara was becoming more terrified as her stomach lurched, alerting her that she was hungry again, and needed meat. The bloodier, the better. She knew the thought should nauseate her, but for some reason it only made her mouth water. And that scared her too. "Look, call Captain Brass from LVPD, he'll explain everything, Nick is sick, I need to get him to a hospital." She took Nick by the arm and felt his muscles relax. She sighed with relief.

"I don't know if I could do that," the security guard said, pushing back his shoulders arrogantly.

"Please," Sara begged, feeling Nick tense again. "Just let us go. Call Captain Brass. Tell them Sara Sidle and Nick Stokes will be returning to Mercy now." She even went so far as to give the guard Brass's personal cell phone number.

He narrowed his eyes again. He opened his mouth to speak when someone cried.

"Aw, just let 'em go!" This was echoes with cries of approval from the crowd.

"They livened up this boring fair!" someone shouted.

"If they're sick, they _should_ go to the hospital!" someone else cried.

The security guard seemed to relent and he nodded, and it was Sara who took Nick by the arm and reluctantly dragged him away from the crowd and out of the fair.

* * *

Even though Greg had spent hours of not talking to Grissom on the plane preparing himself for what he would find in Spain, he was still shocked at the desolate landscape that surrounded them as they drove through the forest. 

"What happened to all the trees…?" he asked breathlessly.

Luis glanced at him fleetingly. "It's November," he replied.

But Greg shook his head. "Nah, it's more than that…" he said, eying the brittle branches with apprehension. "I feel like I just stepped into some B-rated horror movie…"

The car slowed to a stop and Greg turned his head to the front to see where Leon had taken them. Grissom was in the passenger's seat and while Greg couldn't see his face, he knew the wheels were turning in his head. They always were.

"How do we get across?" he asked Leon, and Greg realized there was a bridge with gaping holes scattered about it that crossed a chasm ahead of them.

"We walk," Leon said matter-of-factly, and opened the door before leaping out. The other three followed suit and Greg watched as Leon loaded his handgun.

It was the first time Greg really looked at the secret-agent. His sand-colored hair looked wild cast a grizzly shadow over his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't shaved for a few days as a growth of stubble was visible on his face. His eyes were on the bridge, his gun focused in the same direction.

"Luis," he said, without even looking at the Spaniard. "Lookouts?"

Greg didn't understand, but Luis did and he held a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. "The area looks clear," Luis reported. "But you should know that doesn't mean anything. Saddler might have a few of them lurking in the—"

"Saddler's dead." Leon made the statement curtly and casually, as if it was common knowledge. But Luis looked stunned.

"What?"

Leon looked over at him, looking confused. "Didn't Ada tell you? I thought you two were close."

"Can we discuss this later?" Grissom interrupted impatiently. "I want to get that cure."

"Of course," Luis said, but he seemed a little perturbed. He moved past them to the bridge. "There's enough here for us to cross one by one, so as to not put too much pressure on the rotting wood."

"Tell me, Luis," Leon said loudly, coming up behind the Spaniard. "Whatever happened to Ada, anyway?"

For a millisecond, Luis looked absolutely petrified, but Grissom's irritated voice chased his expression away and Greg wondered if he had imagined it.

"I thought we agreed to talk about this later," he growled.

Luis nodded, and led the way across the bridge, followed by Grissom, Greg, and lastly, Leon. They had to go with some space between, so as not to put too much weight on any one part of the bridge at one time. When Grissom set off, Greg was alone with Leon, and, his curiosity piqued, he needed a question answered.

"What's going on between the two of you? I thought you were friends?"

"We are," Leon replied coldly. "But did you ever wonder how the virus ended up in Las Vegas, Greg?"

A shiver ran down his spine. "So what do you—"

"Greg!" Grissom called over his shoulder, and Greg jumped. Leon gave him a light push and he began his way across the bridge.

* * *

Walking down the street towards Mercy, Nick was unusually taciturn. Sara's stomach was twisting. It was demanding more food, more meat, and the craving was finally beginning to terrify her. It reminded her of something out of _Rosemary's Baby_ and she didn't like it. 

"Nick?" She was startled to hear her voice crack. He didn't answer her, so she turned to him and noticed his hands were buried in his pockets as he stared at the ground. She swallowed. "I'm hungry," she said, but the words didn't convey her fear, her disgust, her utter shock at the fact. And, predictably, the remark was misinterpreted as Nick lost his temper.

"Jesus Christ, Sara, you ate two hamburger's for God's sake, you think that goddamn stomach of yours would be fucking satiated by now!"

Sara stopped walking and it took Nick a moment to notice. He stopped and turned to look at her. His eyes were dark, and his apology was weak. "Aw, Sara, I— I'm sorry. Don't do this. Come on, let's get back to the hospital before we both change out minds."

"What's happening to me, Nick?" she asked, unable to keep the tremble from her voice now. "I don't understand what's going on."

He felt as if he should do something, he _wanted_ to do something, but his feet were rooted to the ground. He wanted to take her in his arms, because things only felt normal when he was holding her, because being so close to another human being reminded him of what he used to be and made him forget what he was becoming. But there was something inside of him that wanted destruction and chaos. There was something inside him that didn't give a damn about Sara, or her fears, and he didn't like the thoughts it was putting in his head, or the words it was forcing him to say.

"You know what, Sara, I don't fucking understand it either. You think I do? You think I have all the answers? You think I can fix all this shit? Well I can't. I _can't_, so stop _whining_ to me about it because there's nothing I can fucking do!"

She didn't even flinch as she stared at him, gingerly cradling her swollen wrist close to her chest. She rocked it back and forth like a fragile baby as she watched him inscrutably for a moment. Finally, she nodded and walked right past him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, ducking her head as she walked by.

He rolled his eyes and jogged to catch up with her. He was going to apologize. He was going to make her feel better. He was going to tell her that if he did know how to fix it, he would, right away. He would tell her that he would save her. "If you expect me to apologize, I won't. You're so _annoying_, sometimes, Sara! You look at me like I can save you, but I'm not a superhero, OK? I have my own problems I'm dealing with because, in case you forgot, I've got this thing inside me, too. And let's not forget how it got there!"

That was the last straw. She turned on him. "Oh, don't you try to tell _me_ how sick you are, Nick Stokes!" she fumed. "Believe me, I've got three days on you, I know the hell you'll suffer through, and right now it's the only consolation that I have! To know that every time I scream, every time I'm burning with fever, it's a _great_ comfort to know that _you'll_ be following close behind!"

And, with a fury blazing in her eyes she shoved him back with her good arm and took off at a brisk pace towards the hospital.

Nick's heart lurched. Because he knew, he had seen it in her eyes, that there was one key difference between her hurtful words and his own. And that was that she had meant them.

* * *


	9. Grissom is a Badass and Sara Goes Crazy

**_Author's Note:_** Ah, would you look at that? I'm baaaaaack! OK, it's two in the morning, I just finished this chapter, and I wanted to tell you that I will push through any writer's block that crops up to complete this story. Also, I'll edit any mistakes such as typos etc when I'm more awake. But I wanted to give you this now, because you've all been so patient! And now, for the long-awaited, but unfortunately short chapter nine! R&R, it's excellent inspiration if you review! I love them! What you all had to say about "God Hates You" (if you read it, moreover, if you reviewed it) was just so touching. I'm glad it affected you like that, as that was its intentions. And now for a fun, no-ulterior-motive-or-moral action story!

* * *

"Warrick!" Catherine's voice was so shrill, it was almost beyond human hearing. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were wrinkled and she had heavy bags under her eyes. She ran down the hall and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I called Brass, he said he was on it, but they haven't found them yet, Warrick, where are they?" 

He pried himself out of her grip and clutched her shoulders. "Look, they couldn't have gone far, could they have? I mean, they've gotta be on foot."

She raked both her hands anxiously through her hair. "Jesus, Warrick, if I've lost them..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence, and he hoped she never would.

The tense silence was broken by her ringing cell phone which she swiftly answered.

"Willows!" she breathed. She closed her eyes and relaxed, relief washing over her. "Are you sure? OK, well I'll leave the hospital and meet them half-way. Thank you so much Jim!" She hung up and looked up at Warrick and gave him a genuine smile. "They went to a fucking fair. Got into some trouble with a security guard."

"Are they still there?" Warrick asked.

"No," Catherine replied, "Apparently, the guard just let them go. But he said they told him they were on their way back."

"Incompetent idiot," Warrick muttered.

She took a deep breath, then sighed again. "I'm going to go find them," she told them. "And then I'm going to request they be put in restraints."

She marched off towards the elevator and pushed the button. Not a moment later, it opened, and she was about to step inside when she decided to yell instead. "_You!_"

Nick pushed her aside and marched down the hallway, looking distracted. "Yeah, I know, lecture me later, I'm tired," he muttered, shaking his head.

Catherine gawked after him, looking utterly affronted. "You bastard! Do you have any idea—"

"Thanks, Mom," Nick snapped over his shoulder. He was so busy interrupting Catherine he ran right into Warrick and swayed on the spot. Warrick caught him by the shoulders and Nick blinked.

When Warrick spoke, his voice was low, and deadly serious. "Where's Sara?"

"Hell if I know," Nick mumbled. "She ditched me. Ran off. I thought she would get here before I did."

"Oh Jesus Christ..." Catherine, too, swayed on the spot and leaned against the wall by the elevator. Warrick glanced at the pale woman, then back to Nick.

"What do you mean she ran off? Where the hell did she go?!" he demanded.

Nick wriggled out of his grip and threw his arms in the air. "I told you, I don't _know_!" he growled. "She couldn't have gotten far, I think her wrist is broken."

"Oh my God!" Catherine groaned in frustration, slowly sliding down the wall as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

"Catherine, go get something to eat, you look like a fucking anorexic!" Warrick snapped at her.

She didn't move as she put one hand on her forehead and gave Warrick the finger with the other.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Nick's bad temper was rubbing off on him. That wasn't a good sign. He looked at Nick, who was grinding his teeth. "Well, at least you're here," he said in calm tones. "That's a start."

"Damn straight," Nick growled. "Can I go to sleep now?"

"Please!" Catherine exclaimed.

Nick glimpsed back at her, then turned to Warrick in expectation. The latter was too tired to yell at him any more. "Yeah, fine, get out of here," Warrick mumbled, gesturing at Nick's room.

"Thank you," Nick said, without an ounce of gratitude, and slammed the door.

Catherine sighed again and jumped to her feet. "Well that's it, I'm going out to find her," she said, hitting the elevator button again.

"When's the last time you slept?" Warrick asked.

She stopped to think. "Wednesday?" she postulated.

"It's Tuesday," Warrick told her.

She squinted at him. "I thought it was Thursday."

He knew that somehow, he would end up taking care of everyone. "I'll do it, you go home and sleep."

Catherine looked desperate. "I need to do this, Warrick," she pleaded. "I won't be able to sleep knowing she's out there, sick and all alone. And Grissom would never forgive me for losing her."

Warrick strode towards her and took her hands in his. "You didn't lose her. She's a grown woman and she left of her own accord, she'll come _back_."

"If she's a grown woman, then why the hell is she and Nick acting like teenagers?" Catherine whined. "Lindsey wouldn't run out on me, not with telling me first."

He tightened his grip on her hands. "Catherine, listen to me. Go home, get some rest, relax, spend time with Lindsey. I'll find Sara."

The elevator arrived and Catherine looked at it longingly, possibly dreaming of sleep. But then she shook her head. "No," she said, pulling her hands out of Warrick's grip. "You need to stay here and watch Nick, make sure he behaves. If they want to be teenagers, then so help me God I will treat them like ones." She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button.

Warrick was wary. "Catherine..." he tried one last, half-hearted attempt.

But she just gave him a big smile and waved. "I'll be back with Sara before you even miss me," she promised right before the doors closed.

And Warrick had that eerie premonition again.

* * *

The woods were disturbingly quiet as they made their way through. It was daylight, but the sky was overcast, and it didn't improve the mood. 

"Where are all the animals?" Greg asked.

"If you see any, I recommend you shoot them," Leon advised from behind him.

Greg looked over his shoulder at Leon. "Why?"

"They're probably infected," Leon replied. "And they will attack, and they will bite you, and no rabies shot will protect you from what's in their blood." He spoke louder, addressing them all now. "The cure will be in Saddler's castle which is a little ways beyond the town a few miles up ahead. Only problem is, towns mean people, and people means Las Plagas. Listen, with their queen gone, the hive mentality breaks down and the Ganados don't know what to do. All they know is death, so whatever they see—sometimes even other Ganados— they will try and kill. They are extremely more aggressive when they don't have a purpose."

"When the hell did you become an expert on this, Leon?" Luis snapped from the front. "I've dealt with these things much longer than you have!"

"Luis," Leon began casually. "What were you doing in Las Vegas?"

"I was requested to come in," Luis replied simply. "By the late Dr. Robbins."

"That's a pretty tale, but it won't do," Leon said. "I heard different."

"I don't want to start any fights here, Leon," Luis said.

"You stole it from our lab, didn't you?" Leon demanded, pushing Greg aside to reach Luis. He grabbed the Spaniard by the shoulder and spun him around, and Greg saw that Luis looked terrified as Leon's knife found his jugular.

"_No!_" Luis insisted, pushing Leon off of him. He sighed. "Ada..."

Leon scoffed. "It's always the pretty girl, isn't it?"

"Is this necessary?" Grissom demanded. "I want to get to that castle you were talking about."

"Yes, it's necessary!" Leon yelled. "You tell me, Sera, and you tell me now. Did Ada con you into stealing the sample?"

He closed his eyes and guiltily looked away from the secret service agent. Leon's eyes narrowed. "So it's true. Aw, Luis. You should know, Ada always goes to the highest bidder."

"What are we talking about here?" Greg demanded, tired of being in the dark.

Leon looked at him, and seemed to feel it was time to explain. "Ada Wong is an old mutual friend of ours," he said, staring at Luis. "Trouble is, you can't trust her further than you can throw her. Unfortunately, Luis here would trust just about anybody."

"She told me that there was a lab in Las Vegas—" Luis began to protest.

"I'm sure," she said. "But I don't care how she lied to you. Did she tell you who she was working for?"

Luis held his breath a moment, then shook his head. "No, she never did. But she said that they were experimenting to find the cure to a similar parasitic disease and that the sample could help them with it. She said..." He sighed. "She told me that Saddler was rising in power again and it was a new strain of the parasite. I thought..." But he stopped, and his eyes doubled in size. "Greg!" he yelled.

Greg only had a split second to be confused when he felt cold, scabby hands seize his throat and all of a sudden he couldn't breathe. He felt his eyes bulge out of his sockets and his feet left the ground as he was lifted into the air. His lungs rapidly expanded and contracted, trying to find air anywhere, but not a molecule could get through and his chest felt as if it was on fire with the effort, his heart beating frantically, trying to escape the inevitable. He was kicking in the air, his hands tearing at the slithery grip around his neck as he saw Leon draw his gun and then—

There were two shots fired, but not from Leon's gun and Greg fell to the ground and gulped in mouthfuls of cold, sweet, pungent air as his hands rubbed his sore neck and he looked up at the monster that had been holding him.

It was human, or it had at least been human at one time, its flesh decaying off its bones as if it were a rotting corpse. Greg could only see its back, as it had turned to face the one who had distracted it, an older man standing on a hill behind them, his eyes focused on his target.

The Ganado lunged at Grissom and the CSI fired again, three more shots into the dead man's chest and the corpse stumbled backwards a moment before it fell to the ground. Greg thought it was dead, but then its left eye socket began to bulge and the whole organ rolled out as what looked to Greg like a large, mutated white scorpion broke the naval cavity in order to escape its host. It made a shrill sound and scurried over towards Grissom, who fired two shots into it before it lay still.

No one said a word. Greg couldn't tear his eyes away from the corpse of the insect. Was _that_ the thing inside Sara and Nick? Was that corpse what they would become?

"Greg?" he heard Grissom ask. "Are you OK?"

He looked up and blinked at Grissom before he nodded, his mouth partially open, his chest heaving as it took everything it could from each breath.

"You're trembling," Grissom pointed out, and looking down, Greg noticed he was right.

"Never been strangled before," Greg said, the action hurting his throat and he swallowed, which didn't help. He rubbed his neck again and shrugged with a smile. "First time for everything."

Grissom looked grim. "First and last," he promised and held out his hand to the younger CSI, pulling him to his feet. He steadied Greg by putting his hands on Greg's shoulders until he stopped shaking. He favored him with a rare smile. "You have a gun," he said. "Don't forget how to use it."

Greg nodded, still a little in shock and Grissom let him go before turning to address Luis and Leon, who were watching the two CSIs with mild respect. "Now," he said to them. "If you two are done arguing about whose fault this is, let's get to that castle. We don't want to be surprised like that again."

* * *

At first, it had only been a brisk walk, but by the time she had rounded the corner and Nick was out of sight, she began to jog. About a block later, she was running, and a few blocks after that she was sprinting, and she didn't even feel winded. 

It was exhilarating. Like driving down the highway in a convertible. The endorphins kept her happy, and the parasite kept her energized. Soon enough, her anger with Nick had subsided and her hunger returned and she slowed to a walk. She looked around. She wasn't too sure where she was, but a part of her was excited about that. Another part of her knew that she needed to get back to the hospital, but no one was listening to that part of her.

She wandered around a little, looking at the shops around her and finally stumbled across a groceries store. Ten minutes later she was walking out of it with a frozen steak, her mouth watering. She sat on a bench and tore the plastic that surrounded it before draining the juices of it into her mouth. She rose to her feet and ripped off a piece of it with her teeth, throwing the plastic it had come in away. She swallowed, and her stomach rumbled with appreciation. She began to walk down the sidewalk, taking bites out of the slab of meet every so often and chewing for a few moments before swallowing it.

A skateboarder passed by. "Ew, lady, that's sick!" he exclaimed before rolling off.

Sara stopped eating the beef and she felt something lurch inside of her that wasn't her stomach. Her hand moved to her abdomen and her heart fell into a bucket of ice when she felt something move beneath her fingers.

She stared at the steak in her other hand as if it were human flesh and immediately dropped it. The parasite wasn't the only thing churning inside of her and she dashed into an alley before falling to her hands and knees and retching, purging herself of her sins. When her stomach was empty and the stench of her vomit invaded her nostrils, she dry heaved a few more times for good measure, trying to get the taste of blood and flesh out of her mouth.

But it wouldn't go away.

She let out a desolate sob like an abandoned dog on the street and wrapped her arms around herself. Where _was_ she? Where was Nick? What was happening to her? Why couldn't she control what she was doing anymore? She moved over to the wall of the alley and leaned against it as she recovered from her nausea.

She felt the parasite wriggling under her skin and she shuddered. Her hand moved up her shirt so it was pressed against the skin where she felt the bug move like a shark beneath the surface. She looked to her left and saw a knife in a puddle.

And then, she had an idea.

Had Sara been in her right mind, her first thought would have been of tetanus rather than the other risks involved with cutting your own stomach open with a rusty knife. But as it was, she was more terrified of what would happen to her if she didn't. Yes, she was terrified. Terrified, and desperate. 


	10. Warrick is Right & Greg Makes A Promise

**_Author's Note:_** Sorry for the wait. Once again, I'll edit it in the morning.

* * *

In Which Warrick is Right and Greg Makes A Promise

The doors to the emergency room at Las Vegas Mercy Hospital burst open and the trauma doctors wheeled in a gurney, shouting stats.

"Knife wound to the stomach, female, white, mid-thirties, Jane Doe!"

As they passed, Warrick caught a glimpse of the waif, who was nothing but skin and bones with black circles around her closed eyes as a rugged gash in her torso painted her pale complexion crimson and stained the white linen sheets. Her arms, which were lolling off of the gurney, had visible and fresh tract marks on them.

Perusing the hospital, Warrick realized that a lot of the trauma victims tended to be drug addicts. He wondered if it was because they were near one of the poorest neighborhoods in Clarke County or if it was just the time of year. Maybe it was that way at Desert Palms too, he didn't know. He liked wondering about things like that because wondering about those sorts of things distracted him from the things he should have been wondering about.

Nick now had an armed guard at his door and his windows were locked. For all Warrick knew, he was sleeping, but he didn't have any real clue how this disease would progress. Were these strange shifts in mood the fault of the parasite, or Nick? Warrick wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to be sure. So long as he remained in ignorance, he could blame Nick's behavior on whatever he wanted to blame it on.

He hoped Sara was OK.

He should call Catherine, she should have been back by now.

Did Greg manage to slip past Grissom and go to Spain?

Would they survive?

Would any of them survive?

Any of them at all?

He sighed and rubbed his eyes before checking his watch again. He should go up to see Nick. He had been avoiding it ever since Nick's melodramatic return from the fair. He was afraid of Nick. Of what he would see in his old friend. But Warrick had to face his demons, just like Nick was facing his own. So with a sigh, he made his way to the fourth floor, where Nick's room was.

He tapped his foot in the elevator as he watched the numbers rise. He licked his chapped lips and listened passively to the instrumental versions of old pop songs. When it finally arrived on the fourth floor, Warrick felt something holding him back. He didn't want to go into that room.

But something else seemed to push him out of that elevator and he stumbled down the hallway. He looked back over his shoulders as the doors closed and his eyes closed with them as he mustered up all his courage. He nodded at the rather bored looking security officer and went on in.

Nick was lying on his side with his back to the door, and at first glance Warrick thought that he had been right to assume that the Texan was sleeping. But when he closed the door and the noise of the hospital hallway fell away, the silence in the room allowed him to here the strained, shuddering breaths of his friend. He sensed a third presence in the room, something alien to him, something that gripped him at the core with cold hands and squeezed. Hard.

It terrified him.

He immediately gripped the doorknob behind him and made to turn around when again, something stopped him. It was the same thing that had pushed him out of that elevator. If Warrick knew anything anymore, he knew that. He closed his eyes again and swallowed his fear, mentally prying the icy fingers around his soul apart and tearing away from its reach. He released the doorknob and approached his friend with a steady step.

Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was impossible for Nick to be sleeping because his body was intensely rigid and drenched in sweat. Warrick stood at the foot of his bed and watched him struggle with his pain, utterly helpless.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, not knowing if Nick had heard him enter.

The poor victim didn't reply, but he did grit his teeth and mutter a stifled grunt of pain. Warrick's heartbeat quickened as he rounded the bed and knelt down in front of Nick.

"What can I do?" he asked quietly.

Nick's eyes, which were already closed, tightened at another wave of raw pain and then burst open as he gasped for breath. Warrick imagined he had broken the surface of the black oceans of the dead, moments away from drowning. "Drugs aren't doing shit anymore," he breathed. Which translated into, there wasn't anything Warrick could do either.

"It's not supposed to be happening this fast, I don't know what's going on," Warrick said uselessly.

"Sara?" Nick choked.

Warrick held his breath a moment then shook his head. "We still don't know where she is."

"Shouldn't have let her..." he tensed. "Blood on my hands."

Nick closed his eyes again as another wave of pain washed over him. When it had passed, he did not relax, but he let out a sob and the tears leaked from his eyes. "Why is this happening to me?" he whimpered, his breathing coming in short, staccato bursts.

Warrick felt his scorching forehead and wiped away some of his sweat. "We'll find the cure..." he offered weakly, but Nick didn't seem to be listening to him as he jolted his head away from Warrick's touch and began thrashing in his sheets.

"No..." he was saying, "No, no, _no_, what have I done? What have I done that's pissed you off so much? Make it stop, _stop it_! I didn't mean to, I didn't _mean_ to, I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm _sorry_, just make it _stop_!"

As he kicked and screamed, the tears tumbled from his eyes pointlessly. He looked like he was wasting away, his skin pale, his body gaunt, his eyes... wild.

Warrick rose to his feet and backed away from the bed. He called for a doctor and hit the call button at the same time. But as he stood there, waiting for something to happen, waiting for anything, he felt completely powerless as he watched Nick's agony.

He had to get away.

Nick's shouts echoed after him as he made for the door and opened it quickly just as the doctors rushed in. He tried to steady his breathing, taking deep, steady breaths. There was nothing he could do. He needed to accept that. He needed to understand that everything that could be done for Nick and Sara was already being done. Catherine was searching for Sara. Greg and Grissom were searching for a cure. And he... he was just searching for a way to cope with all of this.

What if he lost them, oh God, what if he lost them?

Once again, he swallowed his fear and forced the sting in his eyes away. If he lost them, he would deal with it. It was a realistic possibility, and Warrick liked to have a plan for what was to most the unexpected, the unthinkable. He needed to prepare for the worst. If Nick or Sara or both of them died, then... he would... he would handle it. He would burry them twice. Once in the ground, and once in his memories, underneath all of the keys and socks he'd lost, beneath the passwords he couldn't remember, and beyond entire days that were lost to the void of forgetfulness.

He would forget this day, and he would forget Nick's pain. Because it was agony to remember.

But was it possible?

He only hoped he would never have to try, never have to find out. Because he couldn't bear to have to force himself to forget Nick or Sara's death. They deserved more than that. They deserved so much more than he could give them.

His phone rang and it jarred him out of his reverie. In the background, he could still hear Nick screaming. "Warrick Brown," he said.

"Mr. Brown, I believe we have a friend of yours in the ER at Mercy, she's badly injured. There's been an accident."

* * *

The blade was pressing into her abdomen and she was steeling herself for the deed when she was unexpectedly interrupted.

"What are you doing?" She looked up at the confused and too-thin-to-be-healthy woman with bleached blonde hair.

"I... I..." she stuttered, but the woman smiled and entered the alley.

"Come on, sugar," said the blonde sweetly as she held out her hand. "I've been there."

"I don't think you have," Sara told her skeptically as she took the blonde's offered hand, dropping the knife.

The woman rolled up her sleeves, revealing tract marks. "Oh no?" she asked.

Sara rolled up her own sleeves, revealing smooth, chalk-white arms. "No," she said. "I, uh... I gotta get to the hospital. Can you take me there?"

"Well, Mercy's about five miles from here, and I don't have a car. But if you can walk, I can lead you there, sure."

"I can walk," Sara assured her. "I can, at least, for now." She felt the parasite move inside her again and she wanted to be sick. But she forced it down with a smile. "My name is Sara."

"Lora," said the woman with a lopsided smile. "Let's go, sugar, you really don't look too good."

"Don't feel too good," Sara told her.

Lora smiled as she led her to a crosswalk. "Well, we're gonna get you some help, OK? HEY! Watch it, lady!"

A car swerved to avoid hitting Lora and Sara and screeched on the road as it pulled over. A woman with strawberry blonde hair stepped out of the car and Sara blinked.

"What the hell is your problem, lady?!" Lora yelled.

The driver turned, and it was only then that Sara put a face to a name. "Catherine," she breathed emotionlessly.

Lora looked between the two of them. "Do you know this crazy driver, sugar?"

"Sara," Catherine said curtly, walking briskly towards her. She pushed the hair back from Sara's face and smiled before hugging her. "Thank _God_ you're OK!"

"God had nothing to do with it, sweetheart," said Lora, sounding annoyed.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Thank you for helping my friend," Catherine said. "Now leave us alone."

"That girl needs help," Lora told Catherine. "Found her in the alley with a knife to her stomach."

Catherine turned to Sara, looking appalled, but the brunette simply stared back at her blankly. Catherine turned once again to Lora. "Thanks, again, for your help but you can go now."

Lora looked slightly offended and left them alone, nonetheless. Catherine immediately returned her attentions to Sara and lifted her shirt to make sure no damage had been done.

"My God, Sara, what were you thinking?"

"I want it _out_," Sara explained. "I'll do anything to just get it _out_ of me!"

Catherine gathered her up into a hug again and put her hand on the back of Sara's head. This time, Sara's arms rose to return the embrace and Catherine heard her sniff. She remembered what Nick had said and pulled away again.

"Sara, your wrist, are you OK?" Sara shrugged and Catherine seized her swollen wrist. "Don't you _feel _that?" she asked, looking at the discoloration.

Again, Sara shrugged.

"Come on," Catherine said, nervously. "Get in the car, we'll take you to the hospital."

"Will they do surgery?" Sara asked.

Catherine hesitated. "I don't know... But Grissom said he was getting you the cure. He should be back any day now."

"I don't want 'any day now,' I want _now_," Sara insisted.

"Just get in the car," Catherine pleaded, "and we'll talk about this later."

She followed orders like a zombie and crawled into the passenger's seat of Catherine's car. She looked down at her wrist and frowned at it, confused. Why couldn't she feel it anymore? She ran her hand over her skin and her fingertips came up empty. If she had stabbed herself in that alley, would she have felt anything at all?

The parasite in her stomach lurched again and she was gripped with a second wave of nausea. _Well_, she thought bitterly, _at least that's something to remind me I'm still alive_.

Catherine was focused on the road, and silent. Sara looked at her, her eyes vacant and screaming all at once, but Catherine didn't see any of it. "I just want the surgeons to go inside of me and rip it out," she said to her.

"Sweetie, I don't think they can do that," Catherine said. Her words sounded as though she was trying to be sympathetic, but her tone was anything but.

"Why not?" Sara asked.

"Because they don't know where it is," Catherine replied, sounding like an irritated mother who was bored with her child's incessant questions.

"I know where it is," Sara said. "I was going to cut it out myself."

She was angry now as she turned to Sara. "You will _not_ do any such thing, do you hear me? Are you fucking crazy? You could have killed herself!"

"Not before it kills me," Sara returned bitterly. "I'll do anything to get this out of me.

Catherine grit her teeth as she gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Sara, so help me God, if I have to, I will put you in restraints. You're not yourself."

"No, I'm not," Sara yelled, losing her temper. "I'm not, and I want to be, I want to not fight with everyone I care about, I want to stop craving meat, I want to stop having convulsions and not feeling and—CATHERINE!"

The tires screeched, but it was too late. She was in the middle of the intersection, and had missed the warning-sign red light and the next thing she knew was nothing.

* * *

He couldn't see the stars and it disturbed him. It was almost morning, and he had awoken from a nightmare half an hour ago. He rolled over in his sleeping bag and saw Grissom with his arms on his knees and his head hanging low.

"Aren't you supposed to be on watch?" Greg whispered.

He sat up and turned to Greg before a sad smile claimed his features. "Good morning, Greg. You should get some sleep before the sun comes up. You'll need it."

"I've had plenty of sleep, thanks," Greg told him. He paused. "Thanks," he repeated, more thoughtfully. He waited for Grissom to ask why, but the older man was silent. "For—"

"I know," Grissom interrupted quickly, as if he didn't want to hear it.

Greg sat up in his sleeping bag, a small frown on his brow. "You won't even let me say it?"

"If you're awake," Grissom said loudly, "then maybe we should wake up Luis and Leon and get an early start."

"Grissom..." Greg started. "You have no idea how much I—"

"I know, Greg, you don't have to say it," Grissom said, getting to his feet.

Greg watched him move as he gathered up his things and turned his eyes eastward to check for the first rays of sunlight. "You saved my life."

The words made Grissom stop moving, his back to Greg as he straightened up and holstered his handgun. "Saving your life," he began, "would have been leaving you in Las Vegas." He turned around and Greg saw his eyes for the first time. They were dark and heavy, burdened with thoughts he refused to share. "I can't keep worrying about you, Greg," he said.

"I... I know that," Greg said, his mouth half-open.

"Then why did you have to come?" Grissom demanded, sounding almost angry. "I need to get that cure, and if I'm distracted with worrying about you, we'll never—"

"You don't have to worry about me," Greg interrupted. "I'll be smarter from now on. I'll pay attention. Promise."

Grissom sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can say whatever you want, Greg, but it won't—"

"I'll pay you back," Greg vowed. "You'll see." He smiled. "You don't think much of me, Griss, but I know I owe you one and so from now on, I've got your back."

Greg could tell from the look on Grissom's face that the older man didn't believe him. Grissom changed the subject. "Go wake up Luis. I'll get Leon."


	11. Darkness Surrounds Them All

**_Author's Note:_** I'm trying to shape some plot out of all this angst. Don't worry, I have the shadow of an idea of what I'm going to do. I'm going to finish this fic if it takes me all damn year (which I doubt, but... one never knows).

* * *

In Which Darkness Surrounds Them All  


She blinked. It was dark. There were sirens. She turned her head to see her companion was still unconscious, bleeding profusely from a head wound, pinned between metal and leather. The car had hit the driver's side door and crushed her like she was made of glass.

As the blood slowly oozed out of her cracked skull, Sara reached out and touched the thick vermillion liquid. She looked at it, on her ghostly pale fingertips, and realized that she could feel Catherine's warmth slide down in between her fingers. It was the first thing she had felt, other than the nausea in a long time.

She put her fingers to her lips and licked them clean.

Someone was knocking on her window. He wore a uniform. Black, with a badge. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she pointed at Catherine. "I think she's not OK," she said, in a normal, calm voice. The man didn't respond, so she rolled down her window and yelled, "My friend, I think she might be hurt!"

He heard her then and nodded, looking past her. "It's OK, we'll get to her," he said. "Are you OK?" She began to shake her head but he interrupted her denial. "What happened to your wrist?"

"My friend, she's not OK," Sara said again.

"We know, but right now we can't get to her."

"Why not?" Sara asked.

He frowned. "Ma'am, do you know what happened?"

"Smashed the car," Sara answered.

He held a hand to her forehead and called over his shoulder. "We have a head trauma over here!"

"No!" Sara protested, batting his hand away. "I'm sick, I have something..." And it moved again and she winced. "I need Mercy. Where's Mercy?"

"Is that your friend?"

"No." Sara was getting annoyed. Why didn't they understand? "The hospital. Is Nick there? Where's Mercy?"

"Hon, you're about two blocks away from there." He smiled, as though the news was reassuring.

Sara looked over her shoulder. "Catherine," she said. "She needs help."

"Look, your friend? She's trapped between two cars, OK? In order to get to her we need to go through you. Are you OK to move?"

In response, she jumped out of the car without missing a beat and looked back at Catherine with an ache in her heart. "Make sure she's still breathing!" she called as he climbed into the passenger's seat. It was a basic instinctual thing to check that she had forgotten to do. She watched him turn Catherine's head to the side, feeling beneath her neck. He didn't say anything to Sara, but called over his shoulder. "Where the hell are you damn medics?!"

If he was calling for medics, that must have meant she was alive.

"Sara..."

The voice, it was familiar to her, but it was lower, and it hadn't come from Catherine's cold lips. She turned, and his weary eyes written with lines from years of hard cases caught her attention, and her memory.

"Hello, Jim."

He seized her shoulders. "We've been looking all over for you!"

"Jim," Sara said. She looked over her shoulder. "Catherine."

Brass followed her gaze and his grip on her shoulders slackened. "What happened?" he asked, tonelessly.

"She ran a red light," Sara said. "She didn't realize it, we got side swiped, t-boned, smashed..." She turned back to him, her eyes welling with tears. "Why won't it stop? Why does it keep getting worse? Why did Nick and I fight, why did we even leave, I told him we should have stayed and—Oh god, is Nick OK?"

She found his arms slowly encompassing her and she greedily returned the embrace, glad to feel the warmth of someone else, hear their heartbeat, the blood rushing in their veins.

"Nick, he's..."

"Feverish," Sara finished for him. "Convulsions. Delirious. Am I warm?"

"Everything that happened to you," he said.

"But that just happened to me yesterday," she whispered. She frowned. "Two days ago. Why is it happening so fast for him?"

"I... don't know." And she could tell, he really didn't. Jim Brass liked to have an answer for everything, and when he didn't, he usually counted on Grissom to give him answers. But Grissom wasn't there, and now Sara was asking him these questions and he would do anything to give her the answers.

"Catherine..." Sara choked. "Did I do this?"

"You didn't do anything," Brass insisted, and his grip around her tightened.

"Where's Grissom?" Sara whimpered. "I need him..."

"He's trying to find you a cure," Brass told her. "And he will."

"Where's Warrick?" she asked. "And Greg?"

"Warrick is waiting to hear from you," Brass said. "He's looking after Nick. And Greg is with Grissom."

She pulled away, a little stunned. "What? Where did they go? Catherine mentioned..."

"Spain," Brass told her. "They'll be back in no time, you'll see."

"Why did he go?" Sara breathed.

"He wanted to find you a—"

"Not Grissom..." Sara said, bafflement etched in her eyes. "Greg. Why did they both have to go?"

He looked as if that was an easy question to answer, but he stopped. "I'm not too sure. I think he just... He wanted to help."

She pursed her lips to stop them from shaking. "I need him so badly right now."

"Greg?"

"Grissom."

"Sara, you're gonna have to start using names here," Brass said, laughing slightly. "I'm getting confused."

She closed her eyes and laughed. It hurt. She blinked rapidly and looked away. "I can feel it inside me, Jim. I..." He began to weave in and out of her vision and she frowned. "I feel dizzy..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Brass said quickly as he grabbed her shoulders. He led her over to an ambulance and sat her down, calling over a nearby paramedic. "You!" he said. "She needs help."

She closed her eyes to focus. "I'm fine!" she protested, desperately trying to assure them that she was. "Catherine, Catherine, her head, it wasn't _right_!"

"They're tending to Catherine as we speak," Brass assured her as a medic came between them and she could no longer see the detective. But she noticed another paramedic looking grim as he approached Brass.

The medic shined a light into her pupil and she thought she went blind. "Stop it!" she said, struggling.

"Ma'am, you need to calm down—"

"Brass!" she screamed, grabbing the paramedic so she could look over his shoulder. His face fell as the other medic whispered something to him then waited for the detective to respond. When he did, the medic nodded and headed back to the car.

"Ma'am, please stay still!" the paramedic snapped as he pushed her away from him. He continued to examine her for basic injuries from the crash, but she was frantic to find Brass again.

Luckily he stepped into view and kneeled down next to her. "Sara," he began. "They're having some difficulty with Catherine..."

Her heart plummeted into her stomach and she swore the parasite began to feed on it. "What's happening? What's going on?"

"When the car hit you, it crushed the driver's side door and trapped her left arm. They don't know if they can move her without amputating."

She moved her hands up to her face as she inhaled, which annoyed the paramedic, who was taking her blood pressure. "You can't!" she protested. "You can't do that to her!"

She leaped to her feet, the sphygmometer still attached to her arm and darted off to the car.

"SARA!" Brass yelled, but she didn't care. The tears were rolling down her face when she felt strong arms around her stomach, pulling her back. She struggled a moment, trying desperately to get back to the car, until she gave up and turned around, sobbing in Jim Brass's arms.

* * *

The town was a half a day's walk, Leon told them, and this made Grissom frown. Every now and then, Greg was startled by a gunshot. Generally, it was because Leon had seen a Ganado creeping up on them. Ever since Greg's incident they had all become more careful, especially Leon, who had substituted a sniper rifle for his shotgun. 

They walked in silence, mostly to better hear Ganados creeping up on them, but Greg had a different reason for keeping to himself. He watched the back of Grissom's head as he grappled with the question he wanted to ask, but probably never would. And anyways, now was the worst time to ask. Sara was dying, Nick was dying, and Grissom was already mad at him for coming to Spain against his orders.

But then, he heard something strange, Spanish, echoing in the woods. This was followed by a gunshot from Leon's sniper rifle, and then a prompt choice swear word. He lowered his gun and looked at the other three in his party.

"Scouts," he said. "They'll be off to alert the village that we're coming."

"What does that mean?" Grissom asked.

"It means that their population isn't as thinned out as we thought," Luis put in, glaring at Leon. "I thought you said Saddler is dead."

"He _is_ dead—"

"Then how are they repopulating this place without a queen?" Luis demanded.

"Don't be stupid, they aren't repopulating," Leon snapped.

"I thought you decimated that village the last time we were here," said Luis.

"How would you know, you were tied up in a wardrobe the whole time!" Leon retorted.

"Why are you two always fighting?" Grissom asked wearily.

"You used to trust me, Luis, what happened to that?" Leon asked.

"You stopped trusting me," Luis replied.

"Shut _up_!" Greg yelled, making all of them turn to him. "We can't distrust each other now, remember what happened last time? You guys used to be friends. Maybe draw on those memories a little."

He turned around and started walking, expecting them to follow. Something moved a few feet in front of him and he drew his gun. He saw its red eyes and fired two shots at it. It fell out from behind a tree, dead, two bullet holes in its skull.

There was silence and he turned around to see his three traveling companions watching him curiously. "Come on," Greg said seriously as he reloaded his gun. "Let's go."

He started off in the direction of the town, unaware of Grissom's eyes boring holes into his back.

* * *

Sara cradled her bandaged wrist and watched him wrestle with his demons. He seemed completely unaware of her presence. She swallowed and kneeled down by his bed, pushing his hair back from his eyes as he wrestled with a delusional nightmare. Warrick said that all the morphine would do is launch him into a drug-induced sleep, but he still looked like he was in pain, and Sara knew from experience that he was. 

"Hang in there, Nick," she whispered. "There'll come a dry spell. You won't feel anything for a while."

She heard someone come in and looked over her shoulder at Warrick, who looked like a walking corpse. Neither one of them smiled at each other, but finally, he said, "Thank God for you, Sara."

She rose to her feet, afraid to approach him, wondering vaguely in the back of her mind if she was still contagious, if she would randomly cough up blood, if she would hurt another friend. "How is Catherine?"

Warrick chewed on his lip and shook his head. "She'll be alright. Doped up on pain meds right now." He looked over at Nick. "At least they work for her."

Sara watched Warrick for a few moments and saw all the thoughts flickering across his eyes like a news ticker. It was awkward, to stand in between the silent bond of two old, best friends. She quickly excused herself. "I'll go see if she needs anything..." She ducked out of the room, almost unnoticed by Warrick, who stepped towards his friend.

The minute he did, Nick's eyes shot open. "Hello?!" the Texan called, his voice cracked and dry like the Sahara.

Warrick immediately rushed to his friend. "Nick, I—"

"Hello?" Nick cried again, his voice sounding smaller. "God, there's nothing there at all, is there?"

"Nick...?" Warrick said, reaching for his friend's hand.

Nick lashed out angrily and turned his head away. "No..." he mumbled. "No, there's nothing. Why is it so dark here? Oh God, why does it hurt so much?"

Warrick was startled, and he backed away. "Nick?" he repeated for a third time. "Nick, can you hear me? I'm here, bro." And yet despite his words, he continued to move away from his tortured friend.

"Stop it..." Nick murmured. "Stop it, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make her cry, Dad, but she stole Indy! I'm sorry I pulled her hair, just make it stop, please, just..." He trailed off into nonsensical words.

Warrick continued to back further and further away from the bed until he ran into the windowsill behind him. His hands gripped the edge of the sill hard until his knuckles were white, biting his lip until it bled. The metallic taste was bitter in his dry mouth. He looked on with the most torturous emotion to him. He did everything. He solved murders. He had saved Nick on at least two separate occasions; he solved masses of mysteries; he helped the helpless. The helpless...

He was tired of watching his friends suffer around him. Nick, Sara, Catherine... he wanted to do something. He had tried to accept the thought of losing them, and he found that he couldn't. Oh God, what if he lost Nick right now?

He let out a small yelp like a lost dog trying to find its way home again and then realizing it has lost its sense of smell. He was lost in the darkness without anything to lead him back. Everywhere he turned was a dead end. When he didn't hear silence he heard misleading echoes. His hands were tied and there was no scent on the wind that would give him any clue.

This thing had gone to extreme measures to draw out Nick's torture. As long as Warrick could have done something to ease the pain, to make him better, then there had been hope, there had been a chance. But now, he was feeling that most obscene emotion, the emotion he only could understand coming from other people.

Indeed. Warrick was, like many of the victims he saved, absolutely helpless. And then with a curt gasp, the tears began to leak from his reluctant and weary eyes.

"We'll fix it..." he murmured to himself as he watched Nick. "We'll fix it, I promise." He repeated the mantra as he deliberately approached the bed again, conquering his fear. He reached for the morphine drip and pressed the button. "I'll make it stop, Nick," he whispered. "I'll make it stop."


	12. Greg Is Anxious and Nick Is Hopeful

**_Author's Note:_** This chapter took forever to write. I'm sorry. And... don't be fooled by the last few lines of this chapter.

* * *

In Which Greg Is Anxious and Nick Is Hopeful  


"Greg?"

He acknowledged Grissom beside him, but didn't look at him. "Hm?"

"There's something different about you," Grissom noted.

"I told you I'd be better," Greg said with a tiny smirk.

Grissom seemed relieved. "Good, so that's all it is."

Now he was confused. Greg thought he had impressed Grissom, but apparently he'd been wrong. "What did you think it was?"

"I was... worried a moment. Luis said aggressive tendencies are typical of..." He hesitated. "Workers."

"You think I was aggressive?" Greg asked, a little smugly.

"I didn't know you were such a sharp shooter," Grissom told him. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen you fire a gun before in my life."

Was now the right time? Grissom didn't seem to be so angry with him anymore, and Greg had to know if she'd told him. "Grissom, I was wondering—"

"Wait—" said Grissom, his arm jutting out to stop Greg in his tracks. "Leon, is that—"

"The village," Leon finished for him, coming up to his side. "We're going to need to be careful here. There will be a lot of them. Remember, the goal isn't to kill every last one of them, the goal is to get the church. There's a passage down there that leads to the castle. If we can get through the village stealthily, without being noticed, that's the ideal. Are we clear?"

Everyone nodded and Leon opened his attaché case, pulling out his shotgun and cocking it. He looked around. "I have a Broken Butterfly, a semi-automatic and, of course, the rifle, if anyone wants to exchange their handgun."

"I'll take the revolver," said Luis, and Leon handed it to him. Luis examined the gun approvingly. "Where did you pick this up, Leon?"

Leon laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he replied with a laugh. He looked at Greg and Grissom. "You two need anything?"

"I like my gun," Grissom said.

"Me too," Greg agreed. "Don't have much experience with a semi-auto."

Leon closed his case. "Suit yourself," he sighed. He straightened up and looked at the village. "Are we ready?"

They nodded, but none of them knew if they meant it.

Leon went first and signaled them to follow. Greg kept his eyes wide open as they approached the village. There was a pike in the center of the village upon which hung a scorched and decayed corpse, almost skeletal, and the stench reached his nostrils even at this distance. Around the village square, the Ganados wandered, almost aimlessly, completely unconcerned with the reek of the carcass in their midst. Then again, in a way, they were all decaying carcasses, and maybe they didn't know the difference. Greg had problems with differentiating between the Ganados and human beings. After all, they walked and spoke like human beings did, and they even seemed to have some sort of higher brain functioning... And yet, they were completely different. If they weren't so dangerous, and if Nick and Sara weren't each turning into one of them, Greg would have been fascinated by them enough to want to study them in detail.

Leon ducked behind one of the houses and Grissom tugged him by the arm, making Greg realize that he should stop staring and start sneaking.

They turned a corner and Leon pressed himself up against the house as the others followed suit. Leon was squinting at the church, around which swarmed a pack of Ganados, but Greg's eyes were focused on a scruffy, wolf-like dog whose nose was to the ground as it moved around the same corner they had. Greg hit Grissom to alert him, and they both stared at the dog, their hearts beating rapidly.

And then, the dog looked up and locked gazes with Greg. Its eyes were tinged with red.

"Alright," Leon said. "I think I've figured out how we can—"

It barked and Leon and Luis's heads snapped to the left as they heard the dog. There was a loud call in Spanish and Leon flinched. A Ganado rounded the corner and raised an axe over her head. She was followed by five others and Leon aimed his gun.

"So much for stealth," he muttered before firing a few shots into the crowd.

One fell, but they were innumerous. Where there were once five, there was now ten, and ten more on their other side. All four men fired rapidly into the swarm of Ganados closing in on them.

Leon was back to back with Greg as they each fired in their respective direction. "We're going to need to split up!" Leon called over his shoulder.  
"What?!" Greg shrieked. "Hell no!"

"Too late, Greg, I think we already have," Leon returned. "Meet you by the church!"

Horrified, Greg looked around and realized that Leon was right. Two Ganados were heading for him, one with a pitchfork. The other was the original woman with the axe. Greg fired shots at both of them, his heart beating rapidly, and it was only after they both fell that he realized Leon was long gone and he didn't know what to do. He darted around the corner of the house again until he was back in the square. Off by the church he saw Luis, fighting off a pack of Ganados on his own with a grin on his face. Greg couldn't say he shared Luis's excitement. Fighting off the Ganados was harder than he thought and they kept getting closer and closer before they fell down dead.

And then, there was a roar of something behind him that sounded to Greg like the motor of a boat being revved up. He couldn't turn around because a Ganado was right on top of him, but then he heard Grissom's frantic call.

"_Turn around!_"

And then, something clicked in his head, and the same moment he spun on his heal and saw it was when he realized that it wasn't a boat's motor, it was a chainsaw, and it was raise high above a masked Ganado's head.

Greg dove to the ground and rolled out of the way, between the rotting limbs of the vengeful dead. When he stood up again, he found himself out of the center of the mass of Ganados, and at a safe distance, fired aimlessly into the crowd, and every bullet hit flesh.

He heard someone mutter in Spanish behind him and spun around, ready to pistol whip a Ganado when it fell dead at his feet and he looked up to see Luis grinning at him.

"This is fun," he said. "No wonder I missed this place."

Greg stared at him in a mix of horrified awe for a split second before turning to the Ganados pressing in on him. He fired some more shots, but there were too many. And he was running out of bullets.

"In here!" Luis hissed, holding the door of a house open for him. Greg ran in and they slammed it shut. He could still hear the ravenous roar of the chainsaw echoing amongst the Ganado's shouts.

"Don't just stand there!" Luis scolded. "Barricade the damn thing!"

Greg blinked then nodded as he realized what Luis was talking about. He helped the Spaniard move a dresser in front of the door. A nearby window smashed and some began to climb in through that new entrance while others still hacked away at the door. Greg could see the edges of their rusty axes breaking through.

"Upstairs!" Luis called and without hesitating, Greg ran to follow him. The Ganados had already hoisted a ladder to the window and Luis kicked it down, firing a few shots down at them for good measure.

Greg heard the chainsaw again and it sliced through the door and the dresser. Those who had climbed up the window were making their way up the stairs and Greg shot a few bullets before he had to reload. His last round of amo.

He aimed it at the chainsaw-wielder, what used to be a woman with a cloth sack over her head as she blindly made her way up the stairs. He shot her once, twice, three times but she refused to fall. Five, six, seven—the eighth he had to fire at a Ganado who was so close to Greg he could smell its reeking, rotted breath.

He fired a ninth time, and _click_. His eyes doubled in size. _Click, click, click_. He was out of ammo. The chainsaw woman was close at hand, her voice shrieking and his ears were ringing.

Greg backed up against the wall and saw a nearby cabinet, the long thin black tube peeking out of the drawer. He grinned. He seized the shotgun right as the chainsaw woman was right on top of him and fired a shot into her stomach. She stumbled backwards, startled by the blow but kept coming but Greg fired again and this time, when she stumbled backwards, she missed a step and fell down the stairs, taking a slew of Ganados with her. Her screams were like the wails of drowning kittens and it made Greg flinch.

"Good job," Luis called. "Over here!" He gestured to another window which led onto the roof and Greg followed him and leapt onto it. Then Luis turned to face him, his eyes serious. "Look, I know Leon told us to go to the church, but there's no way we'll be able to make it there without getting ourselves killed." And even as he said it, Greg looked at the church and saw dozens of Ganados collected around the door, facing it. He nodded at Luis, who continued. "There is another way to the castle. A short cut, past the cliffs. It used to be guarded by El Gigante, but I think Leon took care of him last time we were here so it should be pretty safe. Are you with me?"

"What about Leon and Grissom?" It was an obvious question, and Greg hoped that Luis had thought of it already.

"We'll meet up with them at the castle. I'm sure they're fine."

"What if they're not?" Greg breathed. "What if they're—"

"I saw Leon slip into the door of the church," Luis assured him.

Greg's heart caught in his throat. "And Grissom?"

"He was with him, I'm sure of it," But the addendum was hasty and dismissive.

"No way," Greg said, getting nervous now. "I told him I had his back. I told him I would be better—"

"And you _have_ been," Luis emphasized, seizing Greg's shoulders. "I saw how you took out that Bella sister! Greg, you are doing so well. You wouldn't still be alive if you weren't. Look, I know that Gil Grissom is a resourceful man. I doubt he's dead yet. The best thing you can do for him is keep yourself alive. Now I know these woods as well as Leon. I nearly lost my life in that castle. I will get you there, as fast as Leon and Grissom will arrive there."

Greg was still anxious as he looked over his shoulder at the church. Luis headed off across the roof and looked over the edge of it before jumping down. Greg chewed on his lip and held his breath before following Luis's lead and leaping off the roof.

* * *

Sara watched Catherine sleep, the injured woman's chest rising up and down as the silence of the room engulfed them. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she was cold. A singular tear escaped her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Catherine," she whispered. "I don't know what's happening to me. Everything is so confusing..."

The door behind her opened and closed and Sara looked behind her to see a doctor with cropped black hair enter the room. She turned and smiled sweetly at Sara.

"Are you Catherine's sister?" the doctor asked.

Sara hesitated. She wanted to say yes. "I'm her friend."

The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Ms. Sidle?"

Sara was suddenly wary. "Yes..."

"I heard you were in the accident with Catherine," said the doctor. And then, her tone grew quieter. "And also, that you're... infected."

"You're not my doctor," Sara snapped, accusingly as she took a step backwards.

"Ms. Sidle, please, please," the doctor rambled off quickly. "My name is Dr. Wong, I'm a specialist in this matter. In fact..."

Dr. Wong moved past Sara to a silver tray near Catherine's bed where she began to moved things around. Sara could see nothing but her back but then the doctor turned around with a grin and held a needle pointing upward in one hand.

The parasite in Sara's stomach lurched and it felt like a sudden stomach cramp. She winced and was immediately even more nervous as she backed away towards the wall.

Dr. Wong approached her, her face warm and comforting. "You don't need to be afraid, Ms. Sidle. Sara. I studied the parasite in Spain alongside Luis Sera. My employer insisted I bring back a sample of the cure for us... should we need it again."

Sara's heart leapt into her throat. "Does Dr. Sera know about this?"

"Eh, well..." Dr. Wong shrugged. "Luis is very protective of his work, I may have..."

"You stole it," Sara deadpanned.

"But I can save your life." The words were promising, tempting, but Sara still felt as if they had strings attached.

However, as if sensing danger, the parasite in her stomach began to wriggle like a worm. "Ah!" she exclaimed, doubling over in pain as the beast seemed to constrict around her stomach.

Dr. Wong approached her with the needle at the ready and Sara looked up at her, a bead of sweat trickling down from her temple.

"Do you trust me?" Dr. Wong asked.

She didn't have any choice. "Do it," she said.

* * *

It was hard to open his eyes, because his lashes were caked with dry eye goo and sweat. He was in bad need of a shower. He was ready to leap out of bed and go and take one when he heard his own shallow breathing and it frightened him enough to decide to keep his eyes closed.

A phone was ringing somewhere else in the room, but it wasn't the ring tone Nick Stokes was used to hearing echoing in the night. Someone answered it.

"Yeah?... OK, that's fine... No— No, Brass, it's cool, I get it, don't worry... Yeah. I can be there in um... half an hour... Yeah. Well, let me just talk to Nick's doctor, OK?... Catherine too... Sara? Ha, she's doing remarkably well considering. She claims she can't feel anything. We don't really know if that's a good thing or a bad thing... Yeah, she's down with Catherine right now... Her arm? Oh, well uh... No. I mean— Is that Ecklie?" He sighed. "OK, fine, tell him I'm coming... Yeah, see you in a few. Bye."

There was a click, followed by another sigh, and then footsteps.

But Nick couldn't let him go.

"Warrick...?"

It was the ghost of a voice, raspy and faded like an old photograph, but it caught Warrick's attention and Nick heard the footsteps stop.

"Nick?" He spoke the name tentatively, testing the turbulent waters.

And then, with great effort, Nick lifted his heavy eyelids and cracked a smile at his old friend. "What's going on?" he asked. "What's happened to me?"

Warrick slowly approached his bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck." Nick coughed. His voice was so dry. "Can I get some... water?"

Warrick nodded quickly and seized a pitcher by Nick's bed, pouring the clear liquid into a paper cup with flowers on it. He handed it to Nick who gulped it greedily.

"How's Sara?" Nick asked. "And... did you say something about Catherine?"

Warrick pursed his lips before he nodded. "Sara, she's doing OK. Catherine, well, she um... She was driving Sara back here and there was an accident. But she'll live."

Nick closed his eyes. "What's happening to us?" he asked Warrick wearily.

"I don't know, Nick," Warrick said sadly.

Someone appeared in the doorway. A woman with cropped black hair and a white coat. "Mr. Brown? I'm Dr. Wong. Ah, Mr. Stokes, you're awake."

Something tightened around Nick's lungs, making it harder to breathe and he spluttered. "Who are you?" he choked out.

"I was just with your friend, Sara Sidle. I've injected her with the cure."

"The cure?!" Warrick and Nick said at once.

Dr. Wong smiled. "It causes some fatigue, but your friend is sleeping it off right now. Well, Mr. Stokes, what do you say? Are you ready to be healthy again?"

Nick's heart fluttered at the prospect. He looked at Warrick. "Grissom can come home," he said.

Dr. Wong tied a tourniquet around Nick's upper arm and sterilized an area of his skin. "I hope you aren't afraid of needles," she said with a sly smile.

And then, both Nick and Sara had been injected with the cure. Grissom and Greg could come home, Catherine would recover, and everything would go back to normal.

... Wouldn't it?


	13. Evolution Occurs in Two Instances

**_Author's Note:_** This took less long to write. I thought of postponing posting until I was a little further ahead, but I thought, eh, what the hell? Also, there are a few Easter Eggs for RE4 fans/players but as ever, it matters not if you're familiar with it. I think you can tell that by now.

* * *

In Which Evolution Occurs In Two Instances

Greg's foot sank into the mud with a slurp, as if the ground were a ravenous monster ready to swallow him whole. Night had fallen by now and the moon had risen overhead. The reek of something dead hovered in the air, omnipresent, as if there were Ganados everywhere, but as Luis lead him on through the darkness, the stench became more repugnant and Greg thought he might throw up. He scratched his neck, which had been bothering him a lot lately, and called out to Luis to slow down.

"We can't slow _down_!" Luis declared. "You're so worried about Grissom, do you think he believes everything is OK with us? We need to meet up with them, lest we get left behind."

So Greg swallowed his nausea and dutifully followed the Spaniard around the wall of a cliff, and then the odor slapped him so hard across the face he thought he might pass out. The source of the stink was not a mass of Ganados but a _massive_ Ganado, a mutated, grotesquely disfigured, corpulent form of what might have shared some genetic resemblances to a human being, on a strictly cellular level.

"What _is_ that thing?" he managed to ask through his disgust as he held his hand over his nose and mouth.

Luis, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice the stench, a sulfuric odor like that of a cow carcass left out in the sun to long, after the flies have gathered to lay their eggs in its folds. "El Gigante," Luis informed Greg. "I believe Leon took him out with a couple of grenades and his knife."

"You can't just _stab _a thing like that!" Greg exclaimed as he carefully avoided stepping in the juices leaking out onto the ground. "Leon's knife would be like a paper cut to this thing!"

"Hence, the grenades," Luis explain. "You startle him, he doubles over to hide, Leon rushed his back and severed his spinal cord. It took him a few times, but he did it."

"So how did that thing get made?"

Luis seemed to shiver. "Genetic experiments," he muttered icily, and with such finality that Greg was afraid to press it further.

He changed the subject. "How far to the castle?"

"Well, let's see..." Leon thought for a moment. "If we camp here soon, get six hours of sleep, I would say... About a day's walk. Day and a half if we come across any trouble."

"A day and a half?!" Greg shouted. "I thought you called it a shortcut?!"

Luis smiled dryly at Greg over his shoulder as they moved upwards through the cliffs. "It's more of a 'safe-cut,'" he said to Greg. "Leon and Grissom took the shorter way, but they're bound to run into a hoard of Ganados prepared to try and stop them. It'll probably take us about the same amount of time to go the same distance."

"What if Grissom gets hurt?" Greg asked nervously.

"Is there a point in worrying about that when you're in no position to do anything about it?" Luis pointed out wisely. He kicked some dirt up with his feet, now that they were on dryer ground and a little ways away from the dead giant. Although, Greg could still smell it. "This seems like as good a place as any to settle down, doesn't it?"

Greg shrugged, not really carrying as he began to lay out his sleeping bag. Luis offered to take first watch, which was fine with Greg. He didn't realize how tired he was until he was lying down.

He fell asleep scratching his neck.

* * *

The church itself was rather magnificent. A deformed rose glittered in the center of a stained glass window at the center of the church. As strange as it was, it was oddly beautiful as it shimmered in the light of the setting sun.

"This way," Leon called, and ushered Grissom over to the left side of the church, behind pillars as he opened a door which led to nowhere.

"What about Greg and Luis?" Grissom asked, his heart catching in his throat. "We need to wait for them."

Leon spun on his heal, his eyes penetrating spears. "Listen to me, Dr. Grissom. There are close to one hundred Ganados outside that door right now scratching at it to get in. If Luis and Greg find a way to get past them, well then they'll meet up with us in the tunnels. If not, well, I know Luis is smart enough to take Greg past the cliffs and they'll meet up with us at the castle. Trust me when I tell you they're probably safer than we are right now. Now, I need you to focus. There are Ganados lurking all over these tunnels and if they catch you off guard, you're done for, ya hear?"

Grissom swallowed, his heart dropping back into his chest. He had to trust that Greg was alright because there was nothing else he could do. "OK," he said. "Lead the way."

Leon opened a trap door on the floor that Grissom hadn't even noticed before and leapt down into the underground tunnels with Grissom falling softly behind him. Immediately, there was an uproar from the monsters that inhabited the underground. They wore miner's helmets and pickaxes, which they brandished at the intruders. Leon and Grissom picked them off one by one. Each of them stole a miner's helmet for light before proceeding deeper into the tunnels. Leon was silent as he scouted the path before him and Grissom wondered at the thoughts that crossed his mind. Was he worried for his old friend, Luis? Or was he thinking of something else entirely?

"What's on your mind?" he finally asked.

"Ada..." Leon replied softly. "The girl, the girl that ruins everything."

"What about her?" Grissom inquired.

"Aw, I don't know," Leon said with the hint of a laugh. "She's fiery, and impossible to read. I'm not too sure where her loyalties lie. One minute she's saving my life, the next she's giving my position away to my enemies. Anyways... Luis trusted her too much. They worked together a lot in the old days, before there even was a Las Plagas. I met Ada during the Raccoon City Incident a while back."

"Raccoon City?" Grissom repeated. "I've never..."

"Good," Leon said, tossing Grissom a smirk over his shoulder. "You aren't supposed to have heard of it."

"What happened there?"

"Oh, you know," Leon replied off-handedly. "The usual. Viral break-out, turns people into aggressive mutated zombies, had to destroy the whole city. That sort of thing."

"You think that Raccoon City and Vegas may be—"

"No," Leon interrupted. "No, it's not the T-Virus. That was created by men. A corrupt corporation—no. Las Plagas is the product of evolution that was just awakened by men. They were supposed to have died out by now until a dig reawakened their spores... You know they can exist in spore form?"

"That's how Nick was infected, I think."

"Well," Leon continued. "I wouldn't know about that."

They were quiet again. Leon's gun went off, killing another Ganado ahead of them.

"These... people," Leon began. "The infected. They're a part of your team."

"They're more than just that," Grissom said quietly.

"Oh, I get that," Leon said. "Trust me."

Another shot, another body.

"I've been part of teams too, you know."

One more shot, and a Ganado fell dead in their path. Grissom carefully stepped over it and as he did, saw another pair of red eyes lurking in the shadows. He shot it dead.

He bit his lip as he stared at the corpse. "They're..."

"Family." Leon aimed his fun at a shadow in the distance.

And then, it stepped into the light.

"Hello, stranger."

Leon, his eyes wide, lowered the gun. The hunched figure that had spoken was dressed in a blue cloak, his face hidden from view to Grissom.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" Leon demanded. "I almost shot your head off!"

The hunched figure straightened and Grissom could see his eyes beyond the blue hood. "Wouldn't make much difference to me if you did, I'm afraid." His eyes had a red halo glowing around them and instinctually Grissom cocked his gun.

Leon's arm shot out in front of Grissom. "Stand down, soldier," he barked. His voice grew calmer as he addressed the stranger. "You got anything for me today, Merchant?"

His skeletal face spread into an eerie grin and he opened his cloak, revealing guns and ammo galore. "For the right a price, stranger."

His accent, Grissom noted, was a clipped form of English. That used mostly by thieves and other unsavory types.

"Are you sure he can be trusted?" Grissom whispered to Leon. "His eyes..."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," Leon said loudly as he picked up a rocket launcher and grinned at it approvingly. He looked up at the merchant. "What's your story, Merchant?"

"Aw, you don't have time for that," said the merchant. "Don't you have a girl to save?"

"Not this time," Leon said. "It's a whole city now."

"Then you have even less time to waste," the merchant pointed out. "Los Ganados are gathering at the entrance to the castle. I would be cautious, if I were you, stranger."

"If you were me, you'd be careful, huh?" Leon muttered curiously as he placed the rocket launcher in his attaché case and handed the merchant some cash. "Well what if you weren't me. Say you were... I don't know, you? How come they don't go after you?"

"Or why you don't go after us?" Grissom added.

The merchant's dark eyes gleamed at Grissom. "Yes, it's true. I am not human." He turned to Leon. "But I'm not one of them either."

And then, Leon smiled. "You have an individual mind."

"Give the man a prize," the merchant exclaimed. He turned to Grissom. "They don't attack me because they sense the plaga inside of me, and yet, being stupid as they are, they don't realize that I have broken away from the Hive Mind. Only the Queen knows that, and she's dead now, isn't she?"

"So... You're a parasite," Grissom began. "I'm talking to a dead man."

"You are speaking with a mind as intelligent as your own, sir," the merchant replied, sounding slightly offended.

But the idea of that was odd to Grissom. Forever open to the possibility of intelligent life outside of human beings, he never considered he would find it on earth.

"But how?" Leon broke in. "How come you're not a part of the Hive?"

"Dunno," the merchant replied with a shrug. "It just turned out that way. I suppose my egg was defective."

"Evolution in action," Grissom murmured in awe.

"Evolution is only possible if I could produce offspring, which I can't," the merchant told Grissom. "I was hatched to be a worker, not a breeder."

Leon took some ammo and handed the merchant some more cash. "We'll be seeing you again soon, I hope?"

"Trust me to be around," the merchant replied with a wink. He faded back into the shadows. "Now go. You have a city to save, don't you?"

Leon nodded in goodbye and he and Grissom continued on, looking back at the merchant until he faded away completely into the darkness of the tunnel.

* * *

Sara's stomach lurched and her eyes snapped open and stared at the ceiling. She needed meat. She badly needed the taste of blood on her lips. She sat up straight in her bed and tossed her legs over the side of her bed. She saw Nick, deep in sound slumber in the bed beside her and her smile widened. She approached her old friend, the fingers of her bandaged hand lightly tracing the muscles in his arm. She cocked her head to the side. She pushed his hair back with her other hand, feeling his soft, moist forehead. Her fingers trailed down the side of his face, tracing the outline of his jaw and down his neck until she reached his shoulder, pushing aside the collar of his hospital gown. She lowered her mouth to his skin, inhaled the potent musk of his sweat before biting into his flesh.

Something strong pushed her to the floor, her teeth ripping out a sizable piece of Nick's shoulder, and she looked up to see him staring at her with red-rimmed pupils and a solemn expression. He got to his feet and stared down at her as she scampered away from him, swallowing what was in her mouth.

"Don't you do that again," he said calmly.

"I'm hungry," she told him, desperately.

He nonchalantly looked at his shoulder which was bleeding profusely, then looked back at Sara on the floor. She licked the blood off her lips and swallowed again.

"It was so easy," she breathed with a smile. "Like candy."

Nick's eyes narrowed and he knelt down next to Sara before striking her across the face. She spat out blood on the floor, and neither of them were sure if it was her own blood, or his. When she turned to Nick again, she looked terrified. Her chest started heaving up and down and her face twisted and turned, as though trying to find the appropriate expression.

"Oh god..." she said, suppressing her disgust. She gagged, and then sobbed again, "Oh _god_."

She wrapped her arms around herself and doubled over as her chest heaved up and down. She was coughing, gagging, anything to get it out of her stomach, but what disturbed her more was she was no longer nauseous and nothing came up.

Nick straightened and kicked her in the stomach, and still nothing came out. "Get yourself together, I'll get you some food."

She looked up at his retreating back and her eyes widened. She called out to him. "Nick—"

He didn't respond. His pace was slow and deliberate, his shoulder was bleeding intensely, staining his hospital gown crimson.

"_Nick_!" she shrieked, and finally he turned, his eyes as crimson as his gown.

"_What_?" he growled through gritted teeth.

She slowly rose to her feet, her knees quaking as they bore her weight. He stared at her, impatiently, his hands clenching into fists. She slowly walked towards him.

"Nick..." she breathed, terrified, the tears leaking out of the corners of her tired eyes. "Nick... please..."

He fumed as he moved quickly towards her, his hand pulled back implying to her his next move. She winced, preparing for the blow, and then he stopped right in front of her. She didn't relax, and he didn't move, and the two of them were frozen in that tense tableau for what seemed like hours until finally, Nick's arm dropped to his side.

Sara relaxed and look up at Nick, whose brow was furrowed in confusion. And the next thing she knew, he was smothering her, squeezing her so tightly she thought and hoped that she would die right there. She nestled her face in the nape of his neck and felt his anxious breathing.

Her hands clambered up his back and her fingers on her good hand entangled themselves in his hair. She felt the blood dripping down her arms and staining her own gown, but as long as Nick didn't care, neither did she.

Slowly, one of them couldn't stand anymore, or maybe it was both of them, but neither of them was sure and somehow they both ended up on the floor.

"Am I bleeding?" His voice was high-pitched and strained through his stressed breathing.

She swallowed. "Yeah, I... I'm sorry."

He trembled in her embrace, and so did his voice. "I can't feel it, Sara... Why can't I feel it?"

As her chest contracted and she felt suffocation looming, and her stomach churned wanting to vomit but couldn't, and her wrist screamed at her in waves, Sara longed for the time when she, too, could feel nothing.

"Enjoy it," she whispered, shifting her grip on him and tightening it. "It's a welcome respite, believe me."

"I thought we were supposed to be getting better..." he whispered.

She sniffed and let out a hopeless sob. "Me too..."

"Is this better?"

"No. No, it's not."

The door creaked open, but neither of them moved. And then, "My god... Nick!"

Sara pulled away from him and looked up at Warrick, who looked horrified and exhausted at the same time. "Warrick—" she began, but didn't know how to continue.

Nick turned around to look at his friend. "Warrick," he said seriously. "You need to put me in my own room."

"First I need to get you the ER. What the hell happened to your shoulder?"

Nick glanced at Sara nervously. "I..."

"He didn't do anything," Sara interrupted. "I bit him."

An awkward silence hovered in the air. Sara sensed a shift in Warrick then, towards her, that she would never forget. He realized at that moment that he was inherently different from her now, and she could tell, and it scared them both.

"Sara..." he began slowly. "How did you cause a wound that bad with... with just your teeth." He approached Nick and knelt down to examine the lesion. He looked up at Sara with a furrowed brow as she compulsively wiped at her mouth, although nothing was there anymore. "His skin is gone, hell a whole chunk of his shoulder..." he trailed off when he noticed a tinge of green in her cheeks and she looked away from him. Instead, he turned to Nick.

"Do you think she's dangerous?" he asked the Texan, as if Sara wasn't even there anymore.

But Nick, his eyes wide and the softest shade or brown, shook his head emphatically. "It's not her," he said. "It's me, I can do worse damage to her than she can to me." He looked over at Sara, whose arms were wrapped around her stomach. "I would have, too, if she hadn't stopped me." He turned back to Warrick. "Man, I... I can't control this rage inside of me, I was ready to kill someone for her, and then I thought I might kill her."

Warrick stepped away from Nick, and that's when Sara noticed the largest change in him then. The alienation between she and Warrick, that had been odd enough, but now a wall had erected itself between Nick and Warrick and it was as if the world was a washing machine and had shaken everything up. It was the moment when the fear of Nick was stronger than the trust between them. It was wrong, oh so _very_ wrong, so much more wrong than even the parasites inside either of them.

And yet, she couldn't blame Warrick at all for his fear. Sara and Nick were losing themselves inside of the parasite. They were becoming the unwelcome presences in their own bodies as the parasites took control.

Warrick's lip quivered as he moved backwards, away from them. "But... But I thought you were supposed to be getting better..."

"We did too," Sara whispered. But even as she spoke, she felt the parasite in her stomach expand and tried to ignore the stabbing pain. She remembered a time when her appendix had burst as a child, and her foster parents of the month had rushed her to the emergency room.

Warrick's eyes darted to the floor, left and right. "I... I need to talk to Dr. Wong..." He blinked, then look at Nick. "And you need stitches." He looked at Sara. "And you... You need..."

She waited for him to finish, wanting desperately to know what she needed, what small action she could do to help her for a minute, and then the stabbing pain in her stomach became too much and she let out a stifled groan.

"She needs a surgeon!" she heard Nick exclaim, and it must have been her hand on his back, because Warrick's hand would not have been so gentle.

"I'll get a doctor," Warrick cried and she heard the door slam.


	14. Warrick Doubts And So Does Leon

**Summary:** Bit of a short chapter. Haven't been writing much. Busy with school now, plus my brother just came back from England, and I've not been on my laptop so much... But I'll try and write more tomorrow. Anyways, this is short because I wanted to give you guys SOMETHING and because I thought it was the perfect note to end a chapter on. So enjoy!

* * *

In Which Warrick Doubts and So Does Leon

He was jogging down the hall and seized the first doctor he saw. "You need to help my friend!" he said.

The doctor shrugged, apologetically. "I'm due in the ER—"

"This _is_ an emergency!" Warrick declared.

"Mr. Brown?" he spun around and saw Dr. Wong watching him in interest. "Is everything alright?"

"No!" Warrick was at his wits' end. "No, that injection you gave them, it isn't working."

She seemed concerned. "It isn't? What's happening?"

"It's Sara, something's wrong with her stomach— what?"

Dr. Wong had inhaled sharply. "Oh no..." she whispered. "Take me to her."

They swiftly made their way back to Nick and Sara's room, where Nick desperately tried to comfort her as she cried out in pain.

"Come here, sweetie," Dr. Wong said as she knelt down on Sara's other side. The tortured CSI looked up at the doctor, her face drenched in sweat.

"Am I going to die?"

Dr. Wong shook her head. "No, dear, not now." She scooped a squirming Sara up in her arms and laid her on the bed, turning to the metal table where she took out a syringe and a vial.

"You're injecting her with _more_ of that stuff?!" Warrick demanded incredulously.

She glared at him. "Of _course_ not," she snapped. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"You said that last time," Sara panted. "Just... just get it out of me. Cut me open, I don't care, do it now."

"No, dear, we can't do that," Dr. Wong said. She pushed Sara's gown up to reveal her belly and Warrick and Nick both gasped to see something swimming and expanding beneath the surface of her skin. Dr. Wong focused and found the bulge before stabbing it with the syringe. Sara tossed her head back and shrieked so loudly and shrilly it made Nick and Warrick wince. But the swell diminished and it stopped moving until Sara's stomach looked normal again. Sara's scream faded into sobs as her chest heaved up and down. Dr. Wong straightened out Sara's gown and pulled the sheets of the hospital bed up to cover her. She stroked Sara's sweat-soaked hair as her patient recovered and fell into a restless sleep. And then, she turned to Warrick and Nick.

"Your friend is infected with a breeder," she told them. "It must have been reacting to the cure— trying to hatch its eggs immaturely in order to save them." She walked swiftly to Nick and took out a flashlight, examining his pupils. "And what about you, have you experienced any side-effects of the cure?"

"Extreme aggression," he told her. "It was intense."

Dr. Wong put the flashlight away. "OK, well, I'm sure that's normal."

"What do you mean 'you're sure?'" Warrick exclaimed furiously. "I thought you've done this before."

"We _engineered_ a cure," Dr. Wong said. "The only subject it was ever _used_ on was Luis Sera, and he... He had different side-effects. It's unpredictable. But as you can see, he made it out OK."

"So far," Warrick hissed. "He and Grissom and Greg are in Spain right now. If you have the cure, is there anyway that we can call them back?"

"I may be able to contact Leon through his radio..." Dr. Wong murmured.

"Who is Leon?"

Dr. Wong blinked before she answered him. "He's a special agent with your friends." She seemed to think a moment, then looked at Nick, then at Sara. "You could restrain him, although inevitably it'll do you no good."

"What do you mean?" Warrick demanded.

"He'll eventually break them," she explained. "Trust me."

"And what about Sara?" Nick voiced anxiously. "If these... side effects keep going on, will it... Will she hurt?"

Dr. Wong smiled fondly and approached him, her black heals clicking on the floor. Warrick thought it was unusual footwear for a doctor like her. Dr. Wong put a hand on Nick's shoulder. Nick reacted strangely to her touch. He seemed to relax instantly. He even smiled at her. Warrick wasn't entirely sure why he found this behavior odd in the Texan. After all, Nick was known to be exceptionally friendly.

And then, he reminded himself, that he was slowly losing the friend he used to know. Maybe that is why he found this behavior to be so odd.

She touched his shoulder and he flinched. "We should get that cleaned up," she said to him softly. "After that, we'll put you back here."

"But Sara—" He pointed at her sleeping form.

"Believe me, you won't hurt her," Dr. Wong assured him. "And after that, I'll see if Catherine is awake and ready to see you." She smiled at Warrick and guided Nick to the door. "See you soon."

Warrick tensed. It almost sounded like a threat.

* * *

Climbing the cliffs was taking its toll on Greg's lungs. He didn't realize how bad a shape he was in until he was forced to hike up Mt. Everest's steeper cousin. He stopped and rested his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"How much... farther do we... need to... go?" he panted at Luis who was a few feet ahead of him.

The Spaniard turned and smiled. "Sorry for the hike, but it wouldn't be a castle if it was in a valley. Has to be on a mountain top."

"Wish we'd... taken the fucking... tunnels..."

Luis nodded in understanding as he walked over to Greg and took his pack. "You want to rest for a while?" he asked.

"No, s'OK," Greg breathed. "We need to... meet up with... Griss and Leon."

Luis looked at his watch. "We're making good time," he told Greg. "Only about four hours away now."

"Been walking... a whole day," Greg said. "If we go on... to midnight... might make it before bedtime."

Luis nodded. "But we'll need to keep up the pace. Are you sure you're up for that?"

"Do I... look like a... fucking asthmatic?... I can... do it... dammit!"

Luis chuckled. "Uh..."

"Fuck you." He began to cough and he spat blood out on the ground. Luis took a step back and stopped laughing. But Greg looked up and wiped his mouth. "What?"

Luis looked spooked, but tried to hide it with awkward laughter. "Nothing," he said. "Look at you. I've been working you so hard, your lungs are bleeding."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Happened since... I was a kid," he explained. He coughed again. His breath was returning to him. "It's my mom's fault, she never let me do sports, not even track." He paused, and took a few more breaths before he continued. "So if I overexert myself my body thinks I'm trying to commit suicide. I've tried to make up for it by working out more, but with the hours Grissom has me on, I haven't had time to make it to the gym lately."

Luis nodded. "You seem better now. You ready to continue?"

Greg grinned. "Ready and willing. Hand me my pack."

"I'll take it from here..." Luis said with a smirk. He shouldered the second pack and took off ahead of Greg, who rolled his eyes again as he scampered up after the Spaniard.

"Show off!" he yelled.

* * *

The tunnels were longer, darker, and damper than Grissom had expected. There were sconces lining the tunnel walls, but the electric lights that used to be a part of them had long since burned out. And after a day's walk, the lights on top of Grissom and Leon's mining helmets were beginning to dim.

"What happens when we lose our light?" the CSI asked the agent.

Leon shrugged, seeming unconcerned. "We'll just cross that bridge when we come to it."

Grissom was far more worried about the dark than Leon seemed to be. Already they had taken down dozens, maybe even hundreds of Ganados who had attacked them in the tunnels, but that was generally because they could see the corpses before the corpses could see them.

"How good is a Ganado's vision in the dark?" Grissom asked.

Leon stopped and it made Grissom stumble. "Huh, well you know, I never really thought about that. Dunno." And then he started walking again.

"How are you so casual in all of this?" Grissom needed to know.

"I've seen worse than what we're taking on here," Leon explained. "It was a far nastier place before I thinned out the population and killed Saddler. Full of mutated... fuck." Leon stopped suddenly again, but this time it wasn't to ponder over the night-vision skills of Ganados.

They had come to an opening in the tunnels. It opened into a large, underground cave, and though Grissom couldn't see much over Leon's shoulder, he knew that if Leon's words were any indicator of what they were up against, they were in deep trouble.

"What is it?"

"Ganados," Leon hissed over his shoulder. "About ten of them."

Grissom instantly relaxed. "Well, that's not so bad."

"Two of them have chainsaws," Leon explained. "Three with pickaxes, two with dynamite, two with bows and arrows and one with a machinegun."

"A machine gun?" That was definitely bad.

"They haven't seen us yet," Leon told him. "Listen to me carefully: Machinegun Man and the Bella Sisters can take us out the fastest—"

"Who are—"

"Those two pretty ladies lugging around the chainsaws," Leon interrupted. "So this is what we're gonna do. I'll snipe Machinegun Guy, you rip into the Bella Sisters."

"Both of them?"

"Both of them. As fast as you can; you have to take them down. Then go for the dynamite throwers, then the bows and arrows, then lastly the pickaxes. A pickaxe can't do any harm lest their right in your face. You got it?"

"Technically, a chainsaw—"

"Will cut you in half in one shot," Leon finished for him. "They are _lethal_, so you have to take care of them. OK?"

Grissom swallowed, then agreed. Leon had dealt with this before, and he knew what he was doing. Grissom shouldn't question it.

"Good," Leon whispered. "Then on my mark. Ready?" Grissom clutched the semi-automatic and nodded. "Aim." Grissom locked a Bella Sister in his sight. "Go."

They both started shooting. The wielder of the machinegun didn't die right away; Leon missed his head and scraped his ear. The Ganado was furious and started firing at the opening of the cave, alerting the other Ganados to the intruder. Leon and Grissom shuffled a little backwards into the tunnel so as to avoid the bullets, which hit the cave wall. But Grissom's shot had taken out one of the Bella Sisters, and the second shrieked in vengeance and started towards Grissom who tried to aim for her head. But the more bullets he fired into her just made her seem to stumble backwards. She kept coming. Why were some of them so easy to kill and others so hard?

Leon, on the other hand, waited for the machinegun man to reload before turning the corner and firing. An arrow missed him by an inch. After a few times of hiding, peeking out, then shooting, Leon finally killed the machinegun wielder and turned his attention to the Bella Sister which was almost right on top of Grissom, her chainsaw held over her head, ready to come down onto Grissom's skull. Grissom shot until he needed to reload, then, petrified, ducked and put his arm over his head when Leon's shot pushed the Bella Sister back, giving Grissom time to reload. Grissom aimed and fired, and the final bullet pierced her neck and she spluttered before falling down dead, the chainsaw still rattling like the bones of a walking skeleton.

Grissom and Leon then turned their attentions to each of the dynamite throwers, who had thrown a stick right at them.

"Get back!" Leon screamed and they ran as far back into the cave as they could as they watched it explode where they have been standing. Leon readied his rifle and shot his dynamite thrower dead. Grissom aimed and fired his semi-automatic incessantly until he ran out of bullets again and the Ganado fell down and didn't get up again. By now, the pickaxe Ganados were right on top of them. When swung at Grissom but he ducked and they hit the wall. Grissom shot at his attacker until it, too, was still. Leon, staying true to his plan, was hitting the bow and arrow shooters and was oblivious to the pickaxe that was about to lodge itself in his skull. Grissom aimed and shot the Ganado dead. Leon didn't even hear the corpse fall behind him.

Leon and Grissom each took out the last two bow and arrow shooters and the cave fell silent. Leon knelt down and picked something off of a dead Ganado. He smirked at Grissom, then tossed him the box.

"Ammo," he said. "Sometimes these bastards have fun little goodies in their pockets."

Grissom looked quizzically at the box of semi-auto ammo before pocketing it. "I don't know, it kind of feels like grave robbing to me."

Leon entered the cave and beckoned Grissom to follow him. "Told you we didn't need to worry about the lights."

And it was true. The cave was well-lit, the sconces shining bright with humming bulbs. Leon and Grissom made their way to a giant door and then Leon started laughing.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "I remember this! I took out two El Gigantes here. This is the lava pit."

"They stay dead, right?" Grissom said tentatively.

Leon laughed, "Yeah, of course," he said as he pulled open the door. There was a deafening roar like thunder that was right overhead. "Uh..." Leon began, his eyes wide. "At least, I _thought_ they stayed dead."


	15. There Are Tense Reunions

**Summary:** I'm no longer apologizing for taking so long. The good news is, I have an idea of what will come after and yes, there will be a preview.

* * *

In Which There Are Tense Reunions 

It was late, and Warrick had told Brass that he was going to come into work tonight, considering the rest of the night shift was out of commission. But before he left, he wanted to check on Catherine. Sara was fast asleep and Nick was with Dr. Wong. And Catherine had been out all day. He hoped she was awake by now.

But when he opened the door to her room he was startled to find Dr. Wong injecting something into her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Warrick asked.

Dr. Wong looked up at him slowly and blinked at him innocently. And then, she smiled. "Pain killers," she explained. "For the arm."

Warrick had had enough of this. "Get away from her."

"Mr. Brown, you forget that Catherine is my patient too," Dr. Wong whispered calmly.

"I thought you were supposed to be suturing Nick's wound or something," Warrick said sharply. "Where is he?"

"In exam 4 getting his shoulder looked at by a fine doctor," Dr. Wong replied simply. "Mr. Brown, if I may be so forward as to ask why you are so tense around me?" She withdrew the needle from Catherine's arm and placed it on a tray table.

"Because you just seem to be too perfect," Warrick spat. "You just happen to show up at the opportune moment—as Catherine's doctor, no less—with the cure to this illness that no one in Vegas has ever seen before and it just seems to make things worse. And Catherine should be awake by now, but it's as if she's in a coma and you're the one keeping her there. On top of that, I have never seen a doctor in stiletto heals on the job. Who are you, Dr. Wong? And I want a straight answer."

She smiled at him and it sent chills down his spine. There was something about her that was simply uncanny and he couldn't place his finger on it.

She opened her mouth and took a deep breath. "Mr. Brown—"

"Warrick?"

Her voice was scratchy, but it was all he needed. He darted to her side and clung to her sweaty hand as her eyes fluttered and she frowned at him.

"Warrick..." She seemed to remember something and was suddenly horrified. "Where's Sara? Is she OK?"

"She's fine, she's fine," Warrick assured her without thinking. "Or..." He looked up at Dr. Wong.

But Catherine seemed distracted. "Warrick, I can't feel my arm..."

Warrick held his breath and then sighed. "That's because..." He swallowed. "You're on a lot of pain killers. Your arm was broken in three places. The metal of the car was crushing it, so the doctors thought it would be best if they doped you up for a little while so your arm'll be a little numb."

She wrinkled her nose. "You mean it's gonna hurt in the morning, don't you?" she whispered flatly.

He smiled. "Yeah, but you don't know how close they were to amputating. You're lucky to still even have it." He reached out and stroked her hair.

She closed her eyes. "As long as Sara as safe..." she murmured. "I'm so tired..." She turned her head away from Warrick and closed her eyes again. Warrick's eyes slowly drifted up to Dr. Wong again.

The doctor shrugged with a wry smile. "She's not in a coma. She's tired. It's a side effect of the pain killers. Bone pain is one of the worst kinds you know. It's best she just sleep through the worst of it."

Warrick's eyes narrowed into slits. "Where did you get this miracle cure again?"

"I told you, from Luis Sera." She was sickeningly sweet and it bothered him

"Right," he murmured. "You stole it."

And then her smile faded. "You're not very appreciative of what I've done for your friends. Look, Mr. Brown, if you don't like me, I can't help that. But your fears are unfounded. And whether you like it or not, I'm not about to recuse myself from treating these patients simply because you are uncomfortable around me."

Warrick rose to his feet, his lips straight as he glared at Dr. Wong across Catherine's sleeping form. "Where is Nick right now?"

She folded her arms and pursed her lips, never looking away from him for a moment. "I told you, he's in the ER getting his wound sutured."

She was lying. "Where _is_ he?"

"You really think I would take him somewhere outside this hospital?!" she cried incredulously. "He's sick, he needs to be _here_!"

"Then take me to him."

She hesitated. That was all he needed. He immediately made for the door and didn't even hear her call after him.

* * *

Greg was so relieved when they reached the top of the cliffs and the castle was actually in view. Granted, it was still a good ways away, but the simple fact that Greg could see it comforted him greatly. It was almost over. They had been here for days and now they would be going home. Or they would be going home very soon.

"Do you need to rest?" Luis asked him, but Greg shook his head.

"Hell no," said Greg. "Let's get to that castle." He approached the gate to the path that led up to the castle and began to haul it open. Luis was at his side to help him, but by that time Greg already had the gate open far enough.

"Nice job..." Luis commented, sounding slightly impressed.

Greg smiled and nodded at the path. "Come on, we're running out of time."

They began to make their way up the barren hill when an engine revved up somewhere out of their vision.

"Is that another chainsaw chick?" Greg demanded in a panicked whisper.

"No..." Luis answered, straining his ears. "It's..."

But Luis didn't have to explain because Greg discovered the source of the sound himself. An old and rusty truck was clattering over the hill, followed by a swarm of Ganados. The back of the truck was carrying barrels of explosives.

"Get out of the way!" Luis hissed and pushed Greg to the side, then aimed at the driver with his broken butterfly and pierced the zombie's skull. The truck swerved to the right and crashed into a wall before exploding, taking a few Ganados out with it. The two men fought off the Ganados that pursued them but Greg couldn't take them out fast enough. One of them grabbed him by the throat again and he couldn't breathe. He was lifted up off of the ground and his gun crashed into the dust at the Ganado's feet. He kicked and tried to scream, but Luis's back was to him and he thought, _Great, this'll really prove to Grissom that I'm responsible. Killed in the exact same position that he had last saved me in._

But just as he was losing consciousness, the Ganado's dead eyes staring into Greg's dying ones, the corpse released its grip on his throat and Greg fell to the earth and seized his gun before firing several shots into the chest of the corpse that had saved his life.

He leapt to his feet and made a dash for the castle with Ganados grasping at him, yelling at him, and he heard Luis's gunshots following him. And then, the gates opened and there was an outpouring of Ganados.

"The drawbridge!" Luis cried and they ran like hell for the castle. Their feet pounded the dirt and then the wood of the drawbridge as they made their way into the castle. Luis pointed to one side of the massive gate and dashed for the other, gripping the lever and Greg mirrored him. They cranked up the bridge and it slowly moved upward. Ganados fell into the water screaming and the gate clapped shut.

And then, they heard a voice behind them. "Well it's about damn time."

* * *

"What the hell is that?!" Grissom demanded, sounding uncharacteristically panicked.

But Leon was smiling like a man who had just reencountered a very old friend. "El Gigante," he explained. "The result of experiments combining Las Plagas and genetic engineering."

The monster was easily ten times their size and grotesquely obtuse, both physically and mentally. It shrieked shrilly and tossed its head into the air.

"You said you killed this before?" Grissom asked.

"Sure did," Leon replied. "Get out of the way, Dr. Grissom."

"What are you going to do?" Grissom asked as he stepped to the side.

In answer, Leon swung the rocket launcher he had purchased from the Merchant over his shoulder. "I would move if I were you, Doctor," Leon repeated with a smile.

Grissom moved back to the wall of the cavern as Leon took aim and the monster charged. There was a fizzle and then a crash as the rocket made contact with its target, knocking the beast off its feet and making it fall backwards.

Leon lowered the rocket launcher from his shoulder with a grin. "Now that's what I call a—"

But what he called it, Grissom would never know, because he cut himself off when he saw the monster roll onto its side and heard its heavy breathing.

"Now what?" Grissom called from his spot by the wall.

Leon looked annoyed as he rolled his eyes and dropped the rocket launcher, taking instead a grenade from his belt. "It's times like these I wish my case were big enough for two rockets," he called back.

The beast was on its feet now, bloody, smoldering, and slobbering as it locked Leon in its sights, furious.

"Time to do this the old fashioned way," Leon muttered and tossed the grenade out at the monster.

It didn't explode in a flare of fire and smoke like Grissom had expected, but rather it erupted in a blinding flash and Grissom had to shut his eyes tight to shield them from the whiteness. The next thing he heard was a cry from Leon as he bounded at the beast. Grissom opened his eyes and blinked and what he saw both amazed and impressed him. Leon was now on the giant's back, slashing at a tentacled Plaga that had burst out of its spine. The giant moaned before falling flat on his face and Leon leapt off and looked over at Grissom, wiping the sweat from his brow and breathing heavily.

"Come on," he called to Grissom. "This tunnel leads up to the castle."

"You're sure we won't run into another one of those again?" Grissom asked.

"No," Leon answered truthfully. "Come on."

The tunnel was damp and steep and climbing it was a bit of a hassle as it grew smaller with every step. But then, Leon pushed a heavy boulder aside and they stepped out into the open.

There was a loud cranking sound and splashing, but Grissom couldn't see beyond Leon's silhouette. The agent folded his arms and sounded smug when he muttered. "Well I'll be damned."

"What is it?" Grissom asked.

Leon stepped aside and turned, offering his hand to Grissom to pull him out of the tunnel and then Grissom grinned.

There was a loud bang as the drawbridge locked into place and Leon stepped forward, throwing his hands into the air. "Well it's about damn time!"

Greg and Luis spun around and a wild smile claimed Greg's features as he saw Grissom. The two men watched each other a moment and Greg was about to say something when Leon interrupted.

"Come on, folks, I thought we had a schedule to keep?"

The others nodded and followed Leon into the castle.

* * *

Warrick raced down the hall, Dr. Wong's click-click-clicking heals running right behind him. He swerved into the stairwell and made his way down towards the ER, skipping steps as he went and came out on the second floor where he saw reception.

"Do you know where Nick Stokes' room is?" he demanded, breathless, knowing he wouldn't be able to find it without her help.

The receptionist pulled the bubblegum out of her mouth in a long, sticky string then stuck it back in again before turning to her computer screen and typing the name in.

"Um—"

"Exam room 6," came Dr. Wong's cold voice from behind him. Warrick spun around and glared at her.

"If he's not there, I swear I will kill you."

"Go see for yourself, then," Dr. Wong hissed sinisterly.

Warrick walked briskly down the hall, then broke into a jog, glancing at numbers and then he found it. He opened the door and spun around the corner before stopping himself.

Nick looked up upon his entrance, his eyes wide and curious, and so did the doctor who was putting a bandage over the wound on his shoulder.

"You're good to go," the doctor told Nick with a smile.

Warrick hesitated as Nick got to his feet and pulled at the neck of his gown. "What's up?" Nick asked Warrick.

Warrick opened and closed his mouth. He had been so sure something was wrong. But if Nick was OK then what did that mean. "I don't trust Dr. Wong," he said.

And as if summoned by her name, the woman in the red heals entered right behind Warrick. Nick looked from one to the other before a smile spread across his face.

"Well I do," Nick told his friend. "She's making me better. Warrick, I can feel it."

"Then why are you shaking?" Warrick nodded at his hands.

Nick looked down, then back up at Warrick, his eerie smile still in place. "It'll go away soon enough."

"Come on, honey, let's take you back up to your room," said Dr. Wong, pushing past Warrick to reach her patient. Nick eagerly allowed her to take him by the arm.

"I can't be with Sara, though," Nick said sternly, a touch of that old fear returning to him. "I don't want to hurt her."

Dr. Wong smirked. "No, we can't have that, can we?" she said, and then led Warrick out of the room. As she passed, Warrick thought he saw something in her, or maybe he sensed it, something that wasn't right, and he refused to let go of the feeling that there was something inherently wrong with her.

He stopped them both with his words. "What's going to happen next?" he breathed.

Slowly and simultaneously, Dr. Wong and Nick both turned their heads to look at him quizzically. It reminded Warrick of _the Shining_ and _the Exorcist_ all at once.

And then, she smiled again, disgustingly sweet, like a cup of sugar poured down his throat, grinding in his teeth and choking him. "I make it all better," she replied simply.

Warrick wondered, if she repeated the mantra often enough, would it become true?


	16. Leon and Luis Meet An Old Friend

**Summary:** I'm trying to wrap things up. Hopefully in the next two chapters.

* * *

In Which Leon and Luis Meet an Old Friend  


"How've you been?" Grissom whispered to Greg as they walked the echoing hallways of the dilapidated castle.

Greg was enraptured by the strange beauty of the stone walls around him. His eyes slid over the decaying walls and tattered tapestries, bloodstained carpets and rusted weapons on the walls. "Huh?"

Grissom shook his head. "Never mind," he replied, with a smile.

Greg blinked, then remembered the question, that question that had burning a hole in his head and heart. "Grissom, I was wondering if Sara..."

Grissom cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. The words caught in his throat and suddenly, he realized, he would prefer not to know. Because whatever answer Grissom gave him would be a disappointment.

"Never mind," he said with a shrug and a smile.

Grissom's eyebrows knitted together as he examined Greg. "You look a little pale, Greg. Your eyes are bloodshot. Have you been sleeping?"

"Uh, yeah, I slept yesterday," Greg told him.

Grissom sighed and looked away from Greg. Greg recognized the weight on his shoulders.

"I told you, you didn't have to worry about me," said the younger CSI.

"That won't stop me from doing it," Grissom told him with a tired smile.

They rounded a corner and went down a narrow staircase until they reached a door. Luis stepped to the front, then hesitated. He thought for a moment, and then punched in a number combination. The door slid open.

"Saddler didn't strike me as the type to change the locks," he said with a smirk.

The four of them stepped into the sterile white storage center with shelves of vials and test tubes. Leon turned his back to them and took out his radio. Grissom examined their labels, intrigued, before he came across a container of formaldehyde in which floated something very odd looking...

"Las Plagas..." he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away.

Greg's stomach lurched. He felt uncomfortable in this place. "I've never seen it so still without a bullet in it," Greg commented and Grissom nodded his agreement.

"Here it is!" Luis exclaimed, holding the vial into the air and beaming."

"We can go home?" Greg raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Leon turned around again and clipped the radio to his belt. "We're going home," he replied. "I've called in a helicopter. He'll meet us at the foot of the cliffs. Now it's all about getting there."

"No problem," Luis cried confidently. "Most of the Ganados are drowned now. We should make it without much trouble at all."

"Well then let's get out of here pronto," Greg said.

The four of them scrambled out of the room and up the narrow stairs into the deserted castle hallway. As they walked in a strange silence, Greg noticed Leon's unease.

"What is it?" he called to the agent, his voice echoing off the tall castle walls.

Leon glanced back at him and tried to shrug off the tension he was feeling. "It just seems too easy, you know? I mean, we went through hell to get here and now that we're here and we just took it, it just seems... odd."

"Well, Saddler is dead," Luis reminded him. "Other than the left over monsters he has around here, there's nothing else."

"Dr. Grissom and I ran into an El Gigante on the way here," Leon muttered.

"So did Greg and I," Luis replied. "It was dead."

"Ours wasn't dead in the conventional sense of the word..." Leon told them.

"Well, maybe you missed one," Luis postulated. "You do miss things you know, Leon. You can't expect to have killed them all."

"Yeah..." Leon mumbled.

But Leon was right, Greg could also sense that something was wrong. And he saw evidence of that in the form of an ivory flash in the corner of his eye.

"Move!" he yelled at Grissom before pushing him forward into a grand hallway and there was a loud clashing sound like a sword hitting stone before the ground shook beneath him and rocks crumbled away from the old wall.

Greg and Grissom were both on the cold floor, but they heard Leon swear as something slithered over the stone and hissed at them.

"Dr. Sssssera... Mr. Kennedy. Pleasure to ssssssee you again."

* * *

Sara was tossing and turning in her sheets and Warrick clutched her clammy hand to help sooth her. She was shaking uncontrollably and her cheeks were sallow and sunken as her stomach expanded. She looked like she was starving to death and kept screaming for food, meat, blood, something, anything to take the pain away.

"You don't eat meat, Sara" Warrick reminded her, his voice steady and strong. "You don't. Don't forget yourself, girl. Remember who you are."

"Warrick—" she breathed and pulled his hand closer to her. "I need _something_. Please, give me something. Or I'll be forced to eat you."

Her eyes flashed red and Warrick, terrified, dropped her hand and leapt backwards. She groaned and looked away from him, her arms wrapping around her stomach beneath which something was stirring again, moving like tiny sharks beneath the surface of a white ocean. Her skin had lost so much pigment it was almost transparent, every blue vein, every red artery pressing against the surface as if begging to escape, as if they knew what was happening...

"She's hungry," said Dr. Wong from the door, holding a tray of raw steak. She entered the room and the smell of the meat invaded Sara's nostrils and her head was pulled by the scent of it as if on a string. "This will sooth her."

"It hurts..." Sara breathed, but Warrick stood between his friend and the doctor.

"She's on pain meds. The highest legal dose she can take."

"Food is the only pain medication that'll work," Dr. Wong told him. She gently pushed him aside and placed the tray in front of Sara, who greedily gobbled it up like a predator over her prey. The sight sickened Warrick and made chills run up and down his spine.

"If I didn't know any better, Dr. Wong, I would say that Nick and Sara's symptoms aren't progressing, they are regressing."

"Nonsense," Dr. Wong said, but she didn't look at him.

He was frustrated. He was about to demand to know what she did, but she spoke up before he could.

"Do you think that Leon and the others will be back soon with the cure?"

He blinked. "You said this _was_ the cure..."

"It's... not the same one Luis developed after I left. I need it, to do research."

Warrick's eyes narrowed. "How is Nick doing?"

"You just saw him," said Dr. Wong. "I'll need you to get the cure from them for me."

"What do you mean?" Warrick asked.

"I'll be going off shift, soon. My colleague will fill in for me to look after your three friends."

Warrick looked at his watch. He had said he was going into work hours ago, long before the sun rose. And now, there it was, hovering over the horizon in the middle of morning. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"I'll sleep here," he said. "With Sara. I'll call you when the others get here and fix things." He didn't know if it was a lie or not, but Dr. Wong smiled, nodded, and left the room.

Sara threw the tray to the floor with a loud clatter and looked up at Warrick with hungry eyes. "More..." she demanded.

And Warrick knew he wouldn't get any sleep at all.

* * *

The creature was dragging itself across the floor, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. It had large growths all over its back and four large, spear-like tentacles which were whipping the air. Greg recognized the weapon he had seen attack Grissom. The younger CSI didn't feel Grissom's eyes on him at all as he stared at the grotesque life form in front of them.

And the grotesque thing focused on them in turn.

"Osmund Saddler?" Leon seemed a little more than just surprised. "I reduced you to blood and bones last time I was here."

"You underestimate my regenerative skillssssss..." Saddler's voice was a harsh, low sibilant whisper, and something about it chilled Greg to the core.

"Well you seemed to have developed a _lithp_," Leon pointed out, purposefully distorting the last word. "Where did you pick that up?"

A tentacle slashed at him and he jumped backwards, but it cut him across his chest, leaving a bloody gash in its wake. "We are the ruinsss of the town you ssso carelessssly left behind. And when the government triesss to dessstroy our sisssster colony in Lasss Vegasss, the new breed will mutate even further."

"So even now, in this half-living form, you're somehow behind this," Leon sighed, sounding almost disappointed. "And here I was giving Ada and Luis credit for it." He looked at his Spanish companion and smiled, a silent apology for their feuds, and Luis nodded back at him.

"The two of you essssscaped my control lassst time, but I assure you, there is no esssscaping thissss time."

"Where are your drones, Saddler?" Leon asked. "Can't infect us without a syringe or even just some spores. But you don't seem like you can handle either of those in your condition."

Saddler's mouth twisted into what might have been a smile. "I do not need ssssporessss. No matter what happenssss, you will either ssssubmit to me or you will die."

"You're the reason why the hive is still active," Luis noted. "That's why the mobs still act with one will. It's a weak will... But I've seen it, it's there."

The creature's attentions switched to the Spaniard. "There issss ssssomething I meant to ssssssay to you, the next time we met, Dr. Ssssera... Now what wasss it? Oh yessssss..."

Before he could even draw breath, Luis coughed up blood. One of Saddler's tentacles had thrust at him and speared him right through the chest.

"_Luis!_" Leon roared as Saddler lifted the doctor off the ground. He let out a breathless gasp as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and Saddler threw the body to the floor. Leon ran to him to search for any life left in his eyes, but his old friend was not responsive, his glass eyes staring up pointlessly at the ceiling.

Greg's heart lurched to see the man he had traveled so far with suddenly be ripped from this life in less than a second. He felt uncontrollably nauseous and spun to the side before he vomited on the castle floor.

Leon gently and reverently placed the corpse of Luis Sera on the floor before rising to his feet, covered in blood, and glaring at the monster who had killed his friend.

"So I didn't kill you then. But second time's the charm," he rumbled, his voice like thunder on the horizon. And then, he revealed Luis's broken butterfly, his gun of choice and before Saddler could retort, he shot he monster four times in the face. Its brains leaked out onto the floor and the thing was unmoving at last. The gunshots still echoed off the walls of the hallway, and Leon kept his arm aimed at the dead thing for a long time before lowering it. He turned to look at Luis and closed his eyes before turning sharply away again and falling to his knees.

Grissom moved first and Greg watched him from his spot on the floor. The older CSI put a gentle hand on Leon's back. "He was part of your team," he said quietly, but even so his voice echoed in the chamber.

Leon laughed morosely and looked up at Grissom with a smile before nodding. "Exactly," he said.

Grissom extended his hand to Leon and pulled him to his feet. The two of them looked to Luis's body and Greg, pale as a ghost, followed their gaze. They were all silent for a few more seconds before Leon began to move again.

"We'll need to pick up the pace to meet the rendezvous," he told them simply.

Greg rose to his feet and nodded. He and Grissom exchanged gazes, but Greg wasn't too sure what he saw in his supervisor them. But the two CSIs followed Luis out of the castle.

They came to the courtyard and the drawbridge, and Greg had a brief sense of déjà vu from a few hours ago when he had raised it with Luis. Grissom and Leon each took a crank and slowly lowered it, not knowing what they expected to see on the other side.

The Ganados were lost, like cattle without fences. Some wandered around with vacant expressions, others viciously attacked each other, clawing at each other until there was nothing left but blood and bits of bone and flesh.

"What's going on?" Greg asked.

"Remember when we thought they were directionless before?" Leon returned. "Well, they did. Now, not so much." He raised his gun and fired a shot into the skull of a Ganado running towards him before it fell down dead. After that, most of the others ignored them. As if they had learned that attacking them would equal death. Perhaps without a hive mind, Grissom postulated, they could evolve into sentient beings capable of their own choices... He wasn't sure if that was better or worse than the average Las Plagas.

It took a few hours, but it was much easy going down the cliff than it was going up it Greg remembered. Although it was a lot stranger going down without Luis. He tried to push the thought to the back of his mind.

They heard the roar of the propeller before they even saw the black hawk helicopter as they rose over a small hill. Leon beamed as he saw the pilot and strolled up to him before shaking his hand vigorously and pulling him into a hug. Greg and Grissom watched them talk, smiling, even laughing, sharing an air of deep camaraderie. And then the mood changed and the pilot's face grew somber as Leon gave him news, presumably of Luis. And then, the agent turned to the CSIs.

"Come on!" he called. "Mike's ready to go when we are."

And Greg and Grissom climbed on board.


	17. Brown Meets Red

_**Author's Note:**_ IT FINALLY ENDS! (Find End Notes and previews in the Special Features chapter)

* * *

In Which Brown Meets Red

It was hours later. She was propped up on her bed, stroking Warrick's hair and looking down at his sleeping form curiously. The other CSI, exhausted, had passed out by her bed and she cradled his head in her lap.

Nick entered the room and she knew he shouldn't have been there, but he was glad either way. He turned his head to look at her. "Are you ready?"

She smiled. "They're desperate."

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists as he took a deep breath and exhaled. A smile crept on his lips and he looked down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "Such strange vessels..." he mused. "So powerful, so impressive, and yet at times..." He looked at his bandaged shoulder. "At times, very fragile. Very weak."

"Their weakness is our strength," Sara whispered. She looked down at Warrick. "Like this one, for example. He requires regeneration through a slowing down of brain function and heart rate. This is something uneccessary for us."

"Because the brains and hearts we use are not our own," Nick said slyly as he walked towards her bed.

"They begin to decompose, even now..." Sara breathed in ecstatic tones, as if it was a triumph of some sort. "I can feel it... It nourishes them and invigorates me."

Nick moved to a table and picked up a scalpel, examining it. He looked over at Sara, a question in his eyes. She nodded enthusiastically and he approached her, looking skeptically at Warrick on her lap. He bared his teeth.

"Do not worry about him," Sara said. "He will be assimilated soon enough."

"I have the urge to kill him where he rests," Nick confided in Sara. "Right now, so easy, a slight cut in the neck, draining his body of the red liquid running through it. So fragile. So stupid."

"She doesn't want that," Sara warned.

The feeling passed as Nick felt her inside his head and he was placated. Instead, he moved Warrick off of Sara's lap, and the woman slowly reclined in the hospital bed. She closed her eyes in ecstasy.

"I feel them moving inside of me, congregating. They are eating their way out. My purpose is complete." She opened her eyes and looked pleadingly up at Nick. "I am ready to die. Help me die, so that they can live." She pulled up her hospital gown to reveal her stomach to him, tiny things squirming restlessly beneath the surface. He placed the scalpel at the top of her stomach when the door opened. He didn't stop until he heard someone call out.

"Nick!"

The name. It was familiar to him, it was warm and strange and made him twist inside his skull. He couldn't help but respond to it. His head slowly turned to the door where he saw a man with a gun aimed at his chest, his eyes focused, his hand unwavering.

The cry had woken Warrick up and he looked from Sara, to Nick, to the gunman and his eyes widened.

"Grissom..." Warrick whispered. He saw Nick, who was staring at their supervisor with red eyes. "Is he..."

Leon entered behind Grissom. "No," he said. "He's not lost. Are you, Nick?"

Greg slowly stepped in behind Leon, but hovered by the door anxiously.

The Texan shifted, and closed his eyes. "You have connections to him," he deduced. "You are disturbing something in him. He calls out for you. Gil Grissom."

Grissom did not lower his gun, he didn't even blink as he approached Nick. "Nick, listen to me very carefully. I need you to regain control, for just a minute. We can still save you."

"Why is this happening so fast?" Warrick asked, breathless.

"There is an accelerant in existence," Leon told him. "I thought it wouldn't be an issue, until I realized Ada was involved."

"Are you talking about me behind my back, Leon?"

The voice startled the three men, and Grissom turned his head to look at where it had come from. That was a mistake. Nick seized Warrick and wrapped his arm around his old friend's neck. The others turned back to Nick as a woman stepped into view in red stiletto heals.

Grissom was visibly nervous now, as he aimed his gun at two of his friends, his eyes slightly larger than they were before as his brain worked at light speed to sort out this new development.

"Aim for the girl," Leon advised in his ear.

Grissom glanced at Sara, who was shifting in her hospital bed, her face blank. She looked far less threatening than Nick did, and as much time as he had spent on the plane ride over on separating his friends from the parasites inside them, he found it more difficult to aim it at her.

"_Do it_!" Leon hissed.

Grissom swallowed and shifted his aim. Sara's mouth slowly opened, as if she wanted to say something. He felt a pain in his chest as his heart beat increased and wondered if he would have a heart attack right there.

And then, the stranger stepped in between the line of fire. "I can't let you do that, Dr. Grissom."

"Who are you?!" Grissom demanded. He glanced at Nick and Warrick and saw the latter struggling against the former, but the Texan didn't move an inch.

"Her name," Leon said loudly, aiming his gun at her. "Is Ada Wong."

"The woman who helped Luis bring the sample to Vegas?" Greg asked from his safe place by the door.

"Where is Luis, by the way?" Ada asked. "I thought he left with you to Spain?"

Leon pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, we had to leave him there. Who are you working for, Ada? Saddler? Umbrella?"

She scoffed. "Do remember your last trip to Spain, Leon? Your mission to save the president's daughter? Do you remember _why_ Ashley was taken in the first place?"

Leon tensed. "I remember..."

"And do you remember the symptoms?" Ada asked, approaching Leon. "Luis couldn't get you the cure in time, so you found the machine that neutralized the threat inside of your body and hers."

"What are you getting at, Ada?" Leon hissed in a low voice.

"Saddler needed a queen to begin a new colony," Ada explained. "And I had the sample."

"Aw, fuck," Leon swore loudly. But he was laughing. "Aw, Ada..." he scoffed and cocked his gun. "You've got red in your eyes."

And indeed she did, and the others noticed it then, a thin red corona against her muddy irises. "We are everywhere," she hissed with Nick, startling Grissom and making Warrick halt in his struggling. "A hive mind. My eyes and ears are all over this city, Leon. They're even in..."

"Me," Sara concluded. She frowned, her face contorting, and then she clutched at her stomach and shrieked piercingly. The parasites inside her were more restless than ever.

It was all any of them needed to launch them all into action and several things happened at once. Warrick, catching Nick off guard, tossed his head back into the Texan's forehead and he stumbled backwards. Ada drew a syringe and launched herself at Leon, who fired and missed, hitting the wall behind her. She knocked him to the ground.

Grissom rushed to Sara, who was clawing at her own stomach and bleeding profusely. He fished his own syringe out of his pocket and stuck it directly into her stomach. The parasites swam faster a moment and then slowed and stopped entirely.

Sara was breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, her hands and stomach covered in blood as she looked up at Grissom with intense gratitude and fell back onto the bed unconscious. Grissom smiled, but didn't bask in the victory for long, as Nick seized him from behind and he couldn't reach his second syringe. He cried out and Greg jumped onto Nick's back and stuck his own syringe in the Texan's neck. Nick's eyes rolled to the back of the head and he crumpled to the floor with Greg on his back. The latter got up and dusted himself off, looking down at the former with a strange, unreadable expression. He looked up at Grissom and smiled.

Leon and Ada were still wrestling on the floor, and Warrick was by the window, cradling his wrist, which had been hurt in a scuffle with Nick earlier. There was the sound of running footsteps outside.

"Greg, lock the door!" Leon screamed and Greg immediately obeyed just as several red-eyed doctors and nurses tried to break through. "It's just you now, Ada. No minions to help you. And don't think I won't kill you. You cost Luis his life."

"He was disposable," she growled.

Leon's eyes narrowed and his hands moved from her shoulders to her throat and head and though she tried to fight it, in one swift motion, her arms went limp and her eyes stared out at nothing, her neck broken.

And just like that, it was over.

* * *

_Several weeks later_

"Gin! I win!" Nick reached across the table and collected the cards.

Sara scowled at him. "Dammit, I had two aces! I could have had that round!"

"Well, you should have played them earlier," Nick said cockily.

Grissom appeared in the doorway and smiled at them. "You two," he said. "In my office. I have a case for you."

They blinked at each other, then looked at him curiously. "You know we don't officially return to work until tomorrow, right?" Nick asked.

"So long as you both insist on spending your days off commandeering the break room, I thought I might pick your brains for some insight on a case," Grissom explained. "I left some fragile evidence in a box in my office though."

They looked at each other again, each of them sensing something more, but they agreed and followed their supervisor to his office.

They laughed when they opened the door to whoops of appreciation and a "Welcome Back!" banner hanging over Grissom's desk. There was cake and champagne and smiles all around. Even Leon Scott Kennedy was there, lingering in the shadowy corner and tossing them each a nod in greeting.

It was the agent to whom Grissom gravitated towards in all the commotion. He much preferred to watch his friends revel from a distance. Sara caught his eye and winked at him, letting him know that she would search for him afterwards. But for now, he was free to do as he pleased.

"There is just one thing that bothers me about this whole mess," Leon voiced after a moment.

"Hm?" Grissom inquired.

"Well, we gassed the town with the antidote," Leon explained. "But I recall the Merchant once saying that he was unaffected by the cure. And if he evolved, I'm just wondering if there's a new breed of evil out there, waiting to rear its ugly head."

"It already has," Grissom told him. "It's called humanity."

Greg, on the other hand, searched for Sara and he pulled her away from Nick and Catherine.

"I wanted to ask you something," he said.

"I want to ask you something first," she insisted, squinting at him. She reached out. "Your eyes are all blood shot; have you been sleeping?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he insisted, batting her hand away. "I was just... It's been bothering me, anyway, since I heard of you and Grissom, I was just wondering if you... told him."

She blinked. "About what?"

He looked embarrassed. "Am I really so forgettable?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh. You mean..."

"After the lab explosion," he said. "You came over to make me soup, see how I was feeling? You were bitter and..." he shrugged. "Desperate?"

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "Not desperate. That was... It just happened. That lab explosion scared me. I almost lost you, I could have been killed, Grissom wasn't... I had a lot of things on my mind and you helped me... sort of get through it."

"So you never told Grissom?" Greg asked.

"I never thought it mattered," she told him honestly. "I mean, we weren't together at the time..."

"Right," Greg said. "Yeah, of course, well..." He looked up and raised his hand. "Warrick!" he called, and left Sara in the middle of the room, looking a little confused.

Catherine wrapped a single arm around Nick's waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. "It's just so amazing to have you back," she breathed.

"And you," Nick said. "You crashed your car looking out for Sara! You almost lost your arm for us!"

"Yeah, and subsequently lost out on all the action," she replied with a smirk, looking down at her arm in a splint. "I get this off next week, you know."

"I do," Nick said. "Congratulations."

"You too!" she returned. "They didn't throw a party like this when I came back."

He pushed her hair back behind her ear. "You know you're special."

"I can't believe she injected me with one of those things, too," Catherine said, flinching at the thought.

Nick chuckled. "Yeah, but yours had no time to grow. On the bright side, you can join the club now."

"What, the infected with a mind-controlling parasite club?" She laughed. "You're right, I _must_ be special."

Leon and Grissom were still discussing the parasites in the corner when Greg wandered over. "What sort of features do you think a thing like that might have?" Leon asked.

"Well, it's purely hypothetical," Grissom explained. "But using the Merchant as a model, I should say that the parasite could potentially work as a symbiote with the host brain, absorbing memories, experiences, and even language in order to exist in the world. Eventually, potentially... The parasite could become its host, enhancing his physical abilities while still retaining its individual personality."

"Does that mean the host would still be alive?" Leon asked.

"Who knows?" Grissom answered. "If it truly is a symbiotic relationship, you probably couldn't tell were the parasite ended and the host began."

Leon shuddered. "Creepy."

"Really," Greg agreed.

Grissom looked at him and hesitated. "Greg... Thank you."

Greg frowned. "For...?"

"In the castle," Grissom explained. "You're right. You did save my life. I know I can... I can count on you for anything now. You did very well."

Greg smirked. "What, because I have quick reflexes? Grissom, I made a promise to watch my back and yours, and that's just exactly what I did." But he was nervous about something. "Can I... Can I talk to you later? There's something I have to... I have to check."

"Sure, Greg," said Grissom.

Greg fled the room, feeling a little nervous as he headed into the bathroom and splashed his face with water. He looked up at his face in the mirror. He leaned in closer and pulled at his eyes. Up until now, he hadn't even thought to check them, never imagining that his eyes would hold the answers to all his migraines, insomnia and bouts of nausea.

But they did. And he could see it plain as day, although he did not know what it meant at all.

Around his mud brown irises was a thin crimson corona.


	18. Special Features

Special Features

**Greg/Sara/Grissom Subplot:** This was a romantic subplot I was going to play with more, before I lost interest in it (and the story in general). Still, having hinted at the "question" Greg wanted to ask Grissom, I realized that I had to at least tie up that loose end. Sorry if it's not your ship, but I hate leaving loose ends.

**CUT PHRASE: Catherine and Nick Subtext  
**

ORIGINALLY:

He gently kissed her forehead. "You know you're special." (EDIT: Odd, FFN randomly censored "Forehead")

CHANGED TO:

He pushed her hair back behind her ear. "You know you're special."

REASON FOR CHANGE:

Similar to the reason why I dropped the Greg/Sara/Grissom subplot. First of all, I couldn't remember if I had hinted at any pairing for Catherine throughout the entire story, let alone whether it was Nick or Warrick (my two favorites for Catherine pairings). So I didn't want to confuse myself or readers. Even though it wasn't blatantly romantic, it still had the potential to be misinterpreted, so I kept it more friendship-like.

**My Regrets:** I wish I wish I wish I didn't lose interest in this because the quality dropped as soon as I did. It became something I just needed to finish rather than wanted to write. Because I never leave a FF work unfinished these days, and if I do I delete it. I regret cutting Catherine out of a good chunk of the story because she is awesome and could have been killer in some scenes. But I didn't really know what else I could do with her with a shattered arm.

**Mock Alternative Ending: **_The following is something I wrote in one of my fits of frustration with this story, but swiftly deleted._

"And do you remember the symptoms?" Ada asked, approaching Leon. "Luis couldn't get you the cure in time, so you found the machine that neutralized the threat inside of your body and hers."

"What are you getting at, Ada?" Leon hissed in a low voice.

DEUS EX MACHINA

"I'm the queen, you idiot," Ada snapped.

Leon blinked. "Ah." And with that, he shot her right through the forehead.

The minute she died, Nick and Sara blinked and came to their senses as if nothing had happened at all, Catherine's arm miraculously healed, and they all went out for a round of beers on Grissom.

And they brought Brass along and apologized for leaving him out of the entire story except for mentioning his name a few times. Because they love Brass. Who doesn't?

* * *

**Previews: **Remember, a preview is not a guarantee, like a posted story is. Just a teaser for the projects I am currently most interested in. Generally, one wins out over the other.

The Dark I Know Well

_Summary:_ Someone has a shameful secret which may prove deadly... A very intimate case study.

He rounded the corner into the hallway when he heard the raised voices of an argument coming towards him. Hoping to ignore it, he tried to move slowly to the side, but when the voices became more distinguishable, he knew his involvement would be inevitable.

"..._ my_ fault, per se, I mean Brass was the one who—"

"Don't you try and blame Brass, he was trying to do his job, like _you_ should have been!"

"I _was_ doing my job, I was gathering information about the case!"

"And what information was that exactly? That a mother was hysterical over the death of her daughter? Now, tell me, Greg, could you have garnered this particular information by, oh, I don't know, common sense rather then letting her contaminate our crime scene?!"

"Well, you're the one who said never to assume anything—"

Greg broke off as he and Nick both nearly ran right over Grissom who was glaring at the two of them. "OK," he said, quietly and calmly. "What happened?"

"Greg let a—" "Nick dropped a—" "She ruined _everything_—" "It's not like I _wanted_—" "And there was screaming—" "She was upset, I wanted to—" "Tells her it's murder—" "Well it _was_ murder and I—"

"_Please_!" Grissom interrupted loudly, making the two of them stop. "Do I really have to treat you like ten-year-old kids?"

Greg snorted and looked sharply away from Nick, who began his explanation. "Greg let a hysterical mother—"

"I didn't _let_ her, we were distracted!" Greg snapped.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Greg somehow decided to not pay attention when a crazy women broke through the crime scene tape and devastated our crime scene."

"Nick dropped a key piece of evidence," Greg pointed out, as if to balance out his own guilt.

"Only _after_ crazy lady scared the hell out of me!" Nick retorted.

"What did I just say about ten-year-olds?" Grissom asked them. He sighed, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "OK, well... It's OK. It was a suicide anyway, wasn't it?"

"No, I don't think it was," Nick said quickly before Greg could respond. The younger CSI silently seethed and Nick smiled smugly as he continued. "She had bruises on her wrists, and her nose was dislocated. I think there was a fight."

"Well, were they perimortem?"

Nick opened his mouth to reply when his face fell. "We don't know because we didn't get it examined by Doc Robbins."

"Did David make note of them?" Grissom asked evenly. "Before the mother arrived?"

"Yeah, he did," Nick replied. "But all he said was he couldn't determine cause of death at the scene. We figured sleeping pills as she was delirious when she dialed 911 and there was an empty bottle of them in the bathroom."

"Well... Robbins may be able to determine cause of death, and he'll let you know about the bruises—"

"Except he can't," Greg burst in. "Because... The mother, she held the girl so tight she broke her arm. Probably caused some more damage to the body."

Grissom continued with never ending patience. "But he can still time the bruises, distinguish postmortem from perimortem from completely irrelevant to this case. Can you get anything else from the body?"

"Any trace evidence has been compromised," Nick sighed.

"Well stop bickering about it and do what you can to fix it," Grissom advised. Greg and Nick looked at each other and begrudgingly agreed.

"We'll do what we can," Greg sighed.

Face Of The World

_Summary:_ He hides beneath the covers, afraid to confront the monsters. So he invents her, creates a world with her face, so he doesn't have to face a world without her. Tiny spoilers for Living Doll and Dead Doll. AU. Character Death.

"When I was a little girl, I used to paint," she whispered.

His chest rose up and down as he chuckled. "No you didn't."

She raised her head up off his chest and gave him a smug look. "As far as you know, I could have."

He kissed the top of her head. "I wished I had learned more about you when I had the chance. I really… I knew nothing about you at all."

She shifted and pulled his arm around her shoulders. "Well, I used to paint. I was never very good, but I was fascinated by all the colors, and ended up getting more of it on me than on the paper. But this one day, I don't know why, but I drew the most beautiful rose. Remembering it, I think it was perfect, but it was probably really juvenile, you know how kids are… Anyways, it was the most vivid shade of red. I haven't seen a shade of red outside of that painting, not even in real roses. Nothing I ever saw could ever capture the color quite right. And then, I look at you, and the shade your cheeks turn when I compliment you, and I see it, right there, the painting in your eyes, a rose in bloom, perfect and unspoiled and innocent…"

She stopped speaking, but he felt as if there was more to say, words that hovered in between her mind and her tongue, waiting for their cue to tumble from her rose-red lips. And then, she propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him, her eyes the deepest shade of brown and her skin as pale as the sheets they were laying in.

"The stem has been cut and the petals are wilting and the painting has been crumpled up and lost in the attic somewhere, faded and forgotten. I can't let it go like that, not the most vibrant red I have ever seen in my life. It cannot fade away. You need to step out in the sunshine, Greg. I need to see you bloom again."

A single, crystal tear trailed down his cheek. "I don't want you to leave me all alone…"

Her eyes mirrored his. "Sweetheart… I already have."

**THE END  
Have A Nice Day**


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